•mm 


u 


LIBRARY 


A. 


TO 
SI  RD 


1 

V  J 


Of 


ANNOUNCEMENT. 


THIS  book  is  wholly  devoted  to  a  description  of  Western 
scenes,  and  nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  railroad  adver- 
tisement has  been  admitted. 

It  is  a  trustworthy  descriptive  book  of  travel,  unencumbered 
with  statistics,  itineraries,  or  reference  to  any  particular  line  of 
railroad  beyond  a  brief  introductory  note.  It  is  hoped,  however, 
that  a  perusal  of  its  pages  will  create  a  desire  to  visit  the  scenes 
described,  and  the  reader  who  wishes  to  know  something  spe- 
cifically about  the  cost  and  other  details  of  such  a  journey  is 
espectfully  requested  to  consult  a  representative  of  the 
Santa  Fe  System  lines.  A  list  of  Agents  is  given  on  reverse 
side. 

Excursion  tickets  for  the  round  trip  to  California  over  the 
Santa  Fe  are  on  sale  at  all  times  of  the  year  in  principal  offices 
throughout  the  country.  The  rates  are  low,  and  liberal  pro- 
visions are  made  for  stop-overs  and  final -re  turn  limit,  allowing 
ample  time  for  a  prolonged  stay  at  the  many  points  of  interest 
en  route. 

The  trains  of  the  Santa  Fe  are  confidently  recommended  to 
a  discriminating  traveling  public  as  unsurpassed  in  the  impor- 
tant items  of  speed,  safety,  and  luxurious  equipment.  The 
dining-car  and  eating-house  service  is  unrivaled.  The  employes 
are  uniformly  courteous  and  obliging. 
CHICAGO,  March,  1902. 


SANTA  FE  TICKET  OFFICES. 


ATCHISON,  Kan.. 316  Commercial  St D.  E.  FARNSWORTH,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

ATLANTA,  Ga.,  16N.  Pryor  St G.  A.  DOBBIN,  Southern  Freight  and  Pass'r  Agent 

BAKERSFiELD,  Cal G.  W.  LUPTON,  Agent. 

BOSTON,  Mass. ,  332  Washington  St S.  W.  MANNING,  General  New  England  Agent. 

HERBERT  A.  CLAY,  Traveling  Agtut. 

H.  M.  FLETCHER,  Passenger  Agent. 

M.  H.  GAGE,  Travelin 


BRENHAM.Tex J.  G.  SLOAN.  City  Passenger  Acent. 

CHICAGO,  111.,  109  Adams  St J.  M.  CONNELL,  General  Agent'Passenger  Dept 

T.  A.  GRADY.  Manager  California  Tourist  Service. 

W.  B.  FR1SBIE,  Passenger  Agent. 

W.  F.  BOYLE.  Passenger  Agent. 

Dearborn  Station H.  DUNHAM.  Depot  Passenger  Agent. 

CINCINNATI,  Ohio,  417  Walnut  St GEO.  T.  GUNNIP,  General  Agent  Passenger  Dept 

F.  G.  BURNETT,  Passenger  Agent. 

CITY  OF  MEXICO,  Mex W.  S.  FARNSWORTH,  General  Agent. 

CLEBURNE,  Tex C,  L.  CARMEAN,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

COLORADO  SPRINGS,  Colo C.  C.  HOYT,  City    Passenger  Agent. 

DALLAS,  Tex.,  246  Main  St CHAS.  L.  HOLLA ND.  City  Passenger  Agent 

J.  P.  WRIGHT,  Passenger  Agent. 
DENVER,  Colo.,  1700  Lawrence  St I.  P.  HALL,  General  Agent  Passenger  Department 

JNO.  J.  SLA  VIN ,  Passenger  Agent. 
DES  MOINES,Ia.,409  Equitable  Building.. E.  L.  PALMER.  Passenger  Agent. 

F.  K.  SMITH,  Passenger  Agent. 
DETROIT, Mich.,  151  Griswold  St F.  T.  HENDRY,  General  Auent  Passenger  Dept. 

J.  N.  BASTEDO,  Passenger  Agent. 
EL  PASO,  Tex.,  Mills  Block GEO.  E.  ROE.  General  Agent 

J.  S.  MORRISON,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

W.  R.  BROWNE,  Traveling  Agent. 
FRESNO,  Cal.,  1840  Mariposa  St F.  A.  JONES.  General  Agent 

T.  A.  WARRINGTON,  Traveling  Agent. 

FT.  WORTH,  Tex.,  710  Main  St T.  P.  FENELON,  City  Passenger  A  Kent. 

GAINESVILLE,  Tex W.W.SIMMONS  JR    City  Passenirer  Agent 

GALVESTON,  Tex.,  224  Tremont  St MAX  NAUMANN.  Ci<y  Passenge  °\lent 

Depot H.  K.  ROWLEY.  Ticket  Agent. 

S.  A.  KEN  DIG,  Passenger  Agent. 

HANFORD.Cal W.  L.  BURBECK,  Agent. 

HOUSTON.  Tex. .220  Main  St J.  R.  GREENH1LL.  City  Passenger  Agent. 

KANSAS  CITY,  Mo.,N.E.  cor.lOth  and  Main  GEO.  W.  HAGENBUCH,  Gen'l  Agent  Pass'r  Dept. 

Sts L.  F.  BACON,  Passenger  Agent. 

Room  7,  Union  Depot.  .C.  W.  PARKER,  Depot  Passenger  Agent. 

W.  J.  JANNEY,  Passenger  Agent. 
..   .J.  Q.  THOMAS,  General  Agent. 
. . .  .T.  V.  WILSON.  European  Traffic  Agent. 
. . .  .E.  W.  McGEE.  City  Passenger  and  Ticket  Agent. 

w--HLlLATSON,  Jr.,  Traveling  Passenger  Agent. 


LEAVEN  WORTH.  Kan 

LONDON,  England,  122  Pall  Mall 

LOS  ANGELES,  Cal.,  200  Spring  St. . . 


MERCED.Cal  ......................  ...........  R.  M.  SEELY.  Agent. 

MINNEAPOLIS,  Minn.,  503  Guar.  Loan  Bldg.C.  C.  CARPENTER,  Passenger  Agent 


MONTREAL,  Quebec,  138  St.  James  St.. 

NEVADA  CITY,  Cal 

NEW  ORLEANS.  La..  705  Gravier  St. . . 
NEW  YORK  CITY,  377  Broadway 

OAKLAND.  Cal.,  1118  Broadway 

PARIS,  Tex  

PEORIA.  III. .103  S.  Adams  St 


PHILADELPHIA,' Pa.,  711  Chestnut  St .".'.'.'.  OTTO  FAAS,  Passenger  Agent. 


D.  W.  HATCH,  Traveling  Agent. 

JO.  V.  SNYDER,  Passenger  Agent. 

A.    LANDRY,  General  Agent. 

GEO.  C.  DILLARD,  General  Eastern  Passenger  Agt. 

W.  F.  MILLER,  City  Passenger  Agent. 
..J.  J.  WARNER,  Commercial  Agent. 
..T.  A.  COX,  City  Passenger  Agent. 
.  ,O.  H.  THOMAS,  Passenger  Agent. 


PITTSBU 
PUEBLO 


RG,  Pa.,  402  Park  Building.  .  .  . 
,  Colo.  ,308  North  Main  St. 


•  Ag< 

F.  E.  SHELLABERGER,  Passenger  Agent. 
..LEO  SAYLER,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

ROME,  Italy,  160  Corso  Umberto  I CHEVALIER  J.  P.  SPANIER,  European  Immigra- 
tion Agent. 

SACRAMENTO,  Cal..  201  J  St W.  J.  SHATTUCK,  Commercial  Agent. 

SALT  LAKE  CITY,  Utah,  411  Dooly  Block.. C.  F.  WARREN,  General  Agent. 

J.  J.  DEVEREUX,  Traveling  Agent. 
SAN  ANTONIO,  Tex.,  101  E.  Commerce  St..H.  Y.  WILLIAMS,  Passenger  Agent. 

SAN  DIEGO,  Cal.,  Horton  House E.  B.  STUART,  Agent. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Cal.,  628  Market  St F.  W.  PRINCE,  City  Ticket  Agent. 

J.  B.  DUFFY,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

R.  L.  STEPHENSON,  Traveling  Passenger  Agent. 

SAN  JOSE,  Cal.,  7  West  Santa  Clara  St H.  R.STERNE,  Commercial  Agent. 

SANTA  BARBARA,  Cal.,  635M  State  St....F.  W.  McDONALD,  General  Agent. 

SANTA  ROSA,  Cal B.  F.  McDANNELL,  Traveling  Agent. 

ST.  JOSEPH.  Mo. ,  622  Felix  St L.  O.  STILES,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

ST.  LOUIS,  Mo.,  108  North  Fourth  St A.  ANDREWS.  General  Agent. 

G.  C.  CHAMBERS,  Passenger  Agent. 

STOCKTON,  Cal.,  17  North  Hunter  St O.  W.  LEHMER.  Agent. 

SYRACUSE,  N.  Y.,  University  Building.  ...CHAS.  A.  MARSH,  Passenger  Agent. 

TEMPLE, Tex R.  D.  FIELD,  City  Passenger  Agent. 

TOPEKA,  Kan CHAS.  L.  SEAGRAVES,  Passenger  Agent. 

SAMUEL  LARIMER,  Passenger  Agent. 

TULARE.Cal C.  R.  NUTT.  Agent. 

VISAL1 A W.  G.  DOZIER,  Jr. ,  Agent. 


To  California 
and  Back 


By  C.  A.  HIGGINS 


Illustrations  by 
J.   T.  McCUTCHEON 

One  Hundred  and  Seventy-second  Thousand 


PASSENGER  DEPARTMENT 
THE  SANTA  FE 
CHICAGO, 
MARCH,  iqo2. 


Copyright,  1899, 

by 
The  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railway  Company. 


Ad.  10.    2-€-'02.    5M. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

ADVERTISEMENT 5 

i.  PRELIMINARY  STAGES 7 

ii.  NEW  MEXICO 12 

LAS  VEGAS  HOT  SPRINGS 19 

SANTA  FE    .     .     .     : 22 

PUEBLOS 28 

in.  ARIZONA     35 

PETRIFIED   FORESTS 39 

MOKIS 43 

CANON  DIABLO 46 

FLAGSTAFF 47 

SAN  FRANCISCO  MOUNTAIN .48 

GRAND  CAftON  OF  ARIZONA 52 

CLIFF  AND  CAVE  DWELLINGS 55 

CENTRAL  AND  SOUTHERN  ARIZONA      ...  57 

iv.  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA 62 

OF  CLIMATE 67 

SAN  DIEGO  AND  VICINITY 74 

CAPISTRANO 82 

STORY  OF  THE  MISSIONS        84 

LOS  ANGELES 92 

PASADENA 96 

MOUNT  LOWE '.....  97 

RIVERSIDE  AND  VICINITY 98 

REDONDO  AND  SANTA  MONICA 100 

SANTA  CATALINA  ISLAND 101 

SANTA  BARBARA 105 

OSTRICH  FARMING 108 

WINTER  SPORTS 109 


102359 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

v.  NORTHERN  CALIFORNIA   .........  113 

SAN  FRANCISCO 115 

CHINATOWN 119 

SANTA  CLARA  VALLEY        128 

LAKE  TAHOE 133 

vi.  NEVADA  AND  UTAH 135 

OGDEN 137 

SALT  LAKE  CITY 138 

GREAT  SALT  LAKE 145 

vii.  COLORADO .  147 

GLENWOOD  SPRINGS 149 

LEADVILLE 155 

BUENA  VISTA 157 

CRIPPLE  CREEK 159 

MANITOU 163 

ASCENT  OF  PIKE'S  PEAK 168 

COLORADO  SPRINGS 171 

DENVER 173 

viii.  HOMEWARD 174 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  proprietary  lines  of  the  Santa  Fe  extend, 
unbroken,  through  Illinois,  Iowa,  Missouri,  Kansas, 
southeastern  Colorado,  New  Mexico,  Arizona,  and 
California  to  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  compose  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  a  through  return  route  by  way  of 
Nevada,  Utah,  and  Middle  Colorado,  in  the  following 
order: 

BETWEEN  CHICAGO  AND  ALBUQUERQUE,  NEW 
MEXICO, 

The    Atchison,    Topeka    &>   Santa    Fe   Railway 
(Santa  Fe). 

BETWEEN  ALBUQUERQUE  AND  BARSTOW  OR  BAKERS- 
FIELD,  CALIFORNIA, 

Santa  Fe  Pacific  Railroad  (San fa  Fe). 
BETWEEN  BARSTOW  AND  Los  ANGELES,  SAN  DIEGO, 

AND    OTHER    POINTS    IN    CALIFORNIA    EAST,  SOUTH, 
AND  WEST  OF  LOS  ANGELES, 

Southern  Calijornia  Raihvay  (Santa  Fe). 

BETWEEN  BAKERSFIELD  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALI- 
FORNIA, / 

San  Francisco  &  San  Joaquin   Vralley  Railway 
(Santa  Fe). 

BETWEEN  Los  ANGELES  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALI- 
FORNIA, AND  BETWEEN  SAN  FRANCISCO  AND 
OGDEN,  UTAH, 

The  line  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Company. 

BETWEEN  OGDEN  AND  GRAND  JUNCTION,  COLORADO, 
Rio  Grande  Western  Railway. 

BETWEEN  GRAND  JUNCTION  AND  PUEBLO,  COLORADO 
SPRINGS,  OR  DENVER, 

Colorado  Midland  Railway. 
Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railroad. 

BETWEEN  DENVER,  COLORAPO  SPRINGS,  OR  PUEBLO, 
AND  CHICAGO, 

The   Atchison^    Topeka    &°   Santa   Fe   Railway 
(Santa  Fe). 

5 


The  circuit  of  these  lines  constitutes  a  comprehensive 
tour  of  the  West,  whose  merits  are  known  to  many 
thousands  of  tourists,  and  whose  attractions  are  the 
subject  of  the  following  pages.  The  necessity  of  com- 
pressing a  theme  of  large  proportions  into  a  space  of 
reasonable  bounds  has  embarrassments  which  only  in 
part  are  avoided  by  exclusion  of  innumerable  matters 
well  worthy  to  be  included.  It  would  be  a  simpler 
task  to  fill  twice  as  many  pages.  Adequate  treatment 
of  a  tenth  of  the  number  of  admitted  topics  would 
exceed  the  limits  set  to  the  present  volume.  All 
omissions,  therefore,  and  any  neglect  of  particular 
localities,  must  be  charged  to  a  plan  which  perforce 
is  restricted  to  a  brief  setting  forth  of  only  the  most 
contrasting  of  the  more  notable  scenes. 

With  this  apology  to  the  Great  West  the  book  is 
tendered.  It  is  in  no  sense  a  guide-book,  but  explicitly 
an  attempt  to  present  the  merits  of  a  relatively  few 
selected  typical  features  for  the  consideration  of  those 
who  weigh  the  high  opportunities  of  travel. 


PRELIMINARY  STAGES. 

1HE  California  trains  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Route  leave  Chicago  either  in  early 
evening,  or  at  a  later  hour  when  most 
travelers  are  ready  to  retire  to  the 
seclusion  of  their  berths.  In  either  event  the 
earliest  stages  of  the  journey  offer  little  of 
interest  to  the  tourist  aside  from  the  drain- 
age channel,  whose  white  rock-debris  closely 
parallels  the  way  for  many  miles  in  almost 
mountainous  volume,  and  affords  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  great  artificial  water-way.  By 
day  the  adjacent  country  for  a  few  hundred 
miles  appears  a  level  or  mildly  undulating 
region,  rich  in  agricultural  products,  and  re- 
lieved by  bits  of  stream  and  woodland  and  by 
small  villages,  with  here  and  there  a  consider- 
able city,  such  as  Joliet,  and  Streator,  and 
Galesburg.  It  is  greater  than  the  whole  of 
England  and  Wales,  this  state  of  Illinois,  but 
a  very  few  hours'  ride  is  sufficient  to  bring  one 
to  its  western  boundary,  the  Mississippi  River. 
This  is  crossed  at  Fort  Madison,  and  the  way 
continues  across  the  narrow  southeastern  corner 
of  Iowa  into  Missouri.  While  gliding  through 
the  state  last  named  the  traveler  awakes  to 
7 


sight  of  a  rolling  country  of  distant  horizons, 
swelling  here  and  there  to  considerable  hills, 
checkered  with  tilled  fields  and  frequent  farm- 
houses, divided  by  small  water-courses  and 
dense  groves  of  deciduous  trees.  Not  one 
whose  scenic  features  you  would  travel  far  to 
see,  but  gratifying  to  the  eye  ;  full  of  gentle 
contrasts  and  pleasing  variety.  At  the  lofty 
Sibley  bridge  crossing  of  the  Missouri  River 
the  swift  sand-laden  volume  of  this  famed 
stream  flows  far  below  the  level  of  the  eye,  and 
there  is  wide  outlook  upon  either  hand.  On 
the  farther  side  the  way  skirts  bold  bluffs  for  a 
considerable  distance  by  the  side  of  the  broad 
and  picturesque  river  that  is  reminiscent  of  the 
days  of  a  greater  steamboat  commerce.  Then 
comes  Kansas  City,  the  great  commercial  gate- 
way of  the  Missouri.  The  Kansas  border  lies 
just  beyond,  the  entrance  to  that  state  leading 
by  the  serpentine  course  of  the  river  of  the 
same  name  through  a  wooded  landscape  to  the 
open  prairie. 

The  billowy  surface  of  Kansas  was  once  the 
bed  of  an  inland  sea  that  deposited  enor- 
mous quantities  of  salt,  gypsum  and  marbles, 
and  its  rock  strata  abound  in  most  remarkable 
fossils  of  colossal  animal  life — elephants,  masto- 
dons, camels,  rhinoceroses,  gigantic  horses, 
sharks,  crocodiles,  and  more  ancient  aquatic 
monsters  of  extraordinary  proportions,  fright- 
ful appearance,  and  appalling  name,  whose 
skeletons  are  preserved  in  the  National 
Museum.  Its  eastern  bound  was  long  the 
shore  of  the  most  stubborn  wilderness  of  our 
possession.  The  French  fur- traders  were  the 
first  to  establish  footing  of  civilization  in  Kan- 


sas,  the  greater  portion  of  which  came  to  us  as 
part  of  the  Louisiana  purchase.  Sixty -nine 
years  ago  Fort  Leavenworth  was  created  to 
give  military  protection  to  the  hazardous  trade 
with  Santa  Fe,  and  the  great  overland  exodus' 
of  Argonauts  to  California  at  the  time  of  the 
gold  discovery  was  by  way  of  that  border  sta- 
tion. The  first  general  settlement  of  its  east- 
ern part  was  in  the  heat  of  the  factional 
excitement  that  led  to  the  Civil  War.  It  was 
the  scene  of  bloody  encounters  between  free- 
soil  and  pro-slavery  colonists,  and  of  historic 
exploits  by  John  Brown  and  the  guerrilla 
Quantrell.  In  the  space  of  one  generation  it 
has  been  transformed  as  by  a  miracle.  The 
vast  plains  whereon  the  Indian,  antelope,  and 
buffalo  roamed  supreme  are  now  counted  as 
the  second  most  important  agricultural  area  of 
the  Union,  and  its  uncultivated  tracts  sustain 
millions  of  cattle,  mules,  and  horses.  Vigor- 
ous young  cities  are  seen  at  frequent  intervals. 
Topeka,  with  broad  avenues  and  innumerable 
shade-trees,  is  one  of  the  prettiest  capitals  of 
the  West.  The  neighborhood  of  Newton  and 
Burrton  is  the  home  of  Mennonites,  a  Russian 
sect  that  fled  to  America  from  the  domain  of 
the  Czar  to  find  relief  from  oppression. 

At  Hutchinson  one  enters  western  Kansas, 
and  from  this  point  for  a  long  distance  the 
road  follows  the  windings  of  the  Arkansas 
River,  with  only  occasional  digressions.  Dodge 
City,  of  cowboy  fame,  and  Garden  City,  the 
scene  of  Government  experiments  in  agricul- 
ture, are  the  chief  centers  of  this  district. 

Colorado  first  presents  itself  as  a  plateau, 
9 


elevated  4,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Soon  the 
landscape  begins  to  give  hint  of  the  heroic. 
Pike's  Peak  is  clearly  distinguishable,  and  the 
two  beautiful  Spanish  Peaks  hover  upon  the 
horizon  and  reappear  long  after  the  first- 
named  has  faded  from  view.  Slowly  the 
Raton  Range  gathers  significance  directly 
ahead,  until  it  becomes  a  towering  wall,  at 
whose  foot  lies  the  city  of  Trinidad,  beyond 
which  begins  the  final  ascent  to  the  first  of 
many  lofty  mountain  gateways,  the  Raton 
Pass.^  The  grade  is  terrific,  and  two  powerful 
mountain  engines  are  required  to  haul  the 
train  at  a  pace  hardly  faster  than  a  walk.  The 
vicissitudes  of  the  pass  are  such  that  the  road 
winds  tortuously  in  curves  so  sharp  the  wheels 
shriek  at  the  strain.  From  the  rear  vestibule 
may  be  had  an  endlessly  varied  and  long- 
continued  series  of  mountain- views,  for  the 
ascent  is  no  mere  matter  of  a  moment.  There 
are  level  side  canons  prettily  shaded  with 
aspen,  long  straight  slopes  covered  with  pine, 
tumbled  waves  of  rock  overgrown  with  chap- 
arral, huge  bare  cliffs  with  perpendicular 
gray  or  brown  faces,  and  breaks  through 
which  one  may  look  far  out  across  the  lower 
levels  to  other  ranges.  A  short  distance  this 
side  the  summit  stands  what  is  left  of  the  old 
toll -house ,  an  abandoned  and  dismantled  adobe 
dwelling,  where  for  many  years  the  veteran 
10 


Dick  Wooten  collected  toll  from  those  who 
used  the  wagon-road  through  the  pass.  Both 
ruin  and  trail  are  of  interest  as  belonging  to 
the  ante-railroad  period  of  thrilling  adventure, 
for  by  that  road  and  past  the  site  of  the  dilapi- 
dated dwelling  journeyed  every  overland  stage, 
every  caravan,  every  prairie  schooner,  every 
emigrant,  and  every  soldier  cavalcade  bound  to 
the  southwestern  country  in  early  days. 
Beyond  this  is  a  wide-sweeping  curve  from 
whose  farther  side,  looking  backward  down 
the  pass,  an  inspiring  picture  is  unfolded  to 
view  for  a  passing  instant  —  a  farewell  glimpse 
of  the  poetic  Spanish  Peaks  at  the  end  of  a 
long  vista  past  a  ragged  foreground  of  gigantic 
measure.  Then  the  hills  crowd  and  shut  off 
the  outside  world;  there  is  a  deep  sandstone 
cut,  its  faces  seamed  with  layers  of  coal,  a 
boundary  post  marked  upon  one  side  Colorado 
and  upon  the  other  New  Mexico,  and  instantly 
following  that  a  plunge  into  a  half-mile  tunnel 
of  midnight  blackness,  at  an  elevation  of  some- 
thing more  than  7,600  feet. 

At  such  a  Rubicon  the  preliminary  stages 
may  fairly  be  said  to  end. 


II. 

NEW   MEXICO. 

LTHOUGH  your  introduction  is  by 
way  of  a  long  tunnel,  followed  by  a 
winding  mountain  pass  down  whose 
steep  incline  the  train  rushes  as  if  to 
regain  the  low  level  from  which  the  journey 
was  begun,  you  will  find  New  Mexico  a  terri- 
tory in  the  sky.  If  its  mountain  ranges  were 
leveled  smoothly  over  its  valleys  and  plains  the 
entire  area  of  more  than  120,000  square  miles 
would  stand  higher  above  the  sea  than  the 
summit  of  any  peak  of  the  Catskills  or  the 
Adirondacks.  Its  broad  upland  plains,  that 
stretch  to  a  horizon  where  wintry  peaks  tower 
high  above  the  bold  salients  of  gray-mottled 
foothills,  themselves  lie  at  an  altitude  that  in 
the  Eastern  States  must  be  sought  among  the 
clouds,  and  at  no  time  will  you  fall  much  below 
an  elevation  of  5,000  feet  in  traversing  the  por- 
tion of  the  territory  that  lies  along  the  present 
route. 

The  landscape  is  oriental  in  aspect  and 
flushed  with  color.  Nowhere  else  can  you  find 
sky  of  deeper  blue,  sunlight  more  dazzling, 

12 


shadows  more  intense,  clouds  more  luminously 
white,  or  stars  that  throb  with  redder  fire. 
Here  the  pure  rarefied  air  that  is  associated  in 
the  mind  with  arduous  mountain  climbing  is 
the  only  air  known— dry,  cool  and  gently  stim- 


ulating. Through  it,  as  through  a  crystal,  the 
rich  red  of  the  soil,  the  green  of  vegetation, 
and  the  varied  tints  of  the  rocks  gleam  always 
freshly  on  the  sight.  You  are  borne  over 
mountains  above  forests  of  pine  and  fir,  with 
transient  glimpses  of  distant  prairie;  through 
canons  where  fierce  rock  walls  yield  grudging 
passage  and  massive  gray  slopes  bend  down- 
ward from  the  sky;  along  level  stretches  by 
the  side  of  the  Great  River  of  the  North,  whose 
turbid  stream  is  the  Nile  of  the  New  World; 
past  picturesque  desert  tracts  spotted  with 
sage,  and  past  mesas,  buttes,  dead  volcanoes 
13 


and  lava  beds.  These  last  are  in  a  region 
where  you  will  see  not  only  mountain  craters, 
with  long  basaltic  slopes  that  were  the  ancient 
flow  of  molten  rock,  but  dikes  as  well;  fissures 
in  the  level  plain  through  which  the  black  lava 
oozed  and  ran  for  many  miles.  These  vast 
rivers  of  rock,  cracked,  piled,  scattered  in 
blocks,  and  in  places  overgrown  with  chapar- 
ral, are  full  of  interest,  even  to  the  accustomed 
eye.  They  wear  an  appearance  of  newness, 
moreover,  as  if  the  volcanic  action  were  of 
recent  date;  but  there  has  been  found  nothing 
in  native  tradition  that  has  any  direct  bearing 
upon  them.  Doubtless  they  are  many  centuries 
old.  Geologically  their  age  is  of  course  deter- 
minable,  but  geology  deals  in  rock  epochs;  it 
talks  darkly  of  millions  of  years  between 
events,  and  in  particulars  is  careful  to  avoid 
use  of  the  calendar.  It  is  well  to  remember 
that  the  yesterday  of  creation  is  singularly  bar- 
ren of  mankind.  We  are  practically  contem- 
poraries of  Adam  in  the  history  of  the  cosmos, 
and  all  of  ancient  and  modern  history  that  lies 
between  is  a  mere  evanescent  jumble  of  trivi- 
alities. Dame  Nature  is  a  crone,  fecund  though 
she  be,  and  hugging  to  her  breast  the  precious 
phial  of  rejuvenescence.  Her  face  is  wrinkled. 
Her  back  is  bent.  Innumerable  mutations  lie 
heavy  upon  her,  briskly  though  she  may  plot 
for  to-morrow.  And  nowhere  can  you  find  her 
more  haggard  and  gray  than  here.  You  feel 
that  this  place  has  always  worn  much  the  same 
aspect  that  it  wears  to-day.  Parcel  of  the 
arid  region,  it  sleeps  only  for  thirst.  Slake 
that,  and  it  becomes  a  garden  of  paradise  as 
14 


by  a  magic  word.  The  present  generation  has 
proved  it  true  in  a  hundred  localities,  where  the 
proximity  of  rivers  or  mountain  streams  has 
made  irrigation  practicable.  The  confines 
of  the  Great  American  Desert  are  narrowing 
rapidly.  Do  but  reflect  that  a  quarter-century 
back  the  journey  you  now  make  in  perfect  com- 
fort was  a  matter  of  wild  adventure,  at  cost  of 
months  of  arduous  travel  and  at  hazard  of  life, 
not  only  because  of  human  foes,  but  for  scarcity 
of  food  and  water.  One  never  appreciates  the 
full  stride  of  American  progress  until  he  has 
traversed  in  a  Pullman  car  such  a  territory  as 
this,  where  Valley  of  Death  and  Journey  of  the 
Dead  are  names  still  borne  by  waterless  tracts, 
and  justified  by  bleached  bones  of  cattle  and 
lonely  mounds  of  scattered  graves.  Rescue^ 
from  centuries  of  horror  and  planted  in  the 
front  rank  of  young  rising  states  by  the  genius 
of  our  generation,  New  Mexico  is  a  land  of 
broad  ranges,  where  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
sleek  cattle  and  countless  flocks  of  sheep 
browse  upon  the  nutritious  grasses;  where 
fields  of  grain  wave  in  the  healthful  breeze; 
where  orchard  trees  bend  under  their  weight  of 
luscious  fruits,  and  where  the  rocks  lay  bare 
inexhaustible  veins  of  precious  metals.  Here 
may  be  found  to-day  as  profitable  large  ranches 
as  any  in  the  country,  and  innumerable  small 
aggregations  of  cultivated  acres,  whose  owners 
sit  comfortably  upon  shaded  verandas  while 
their  servants  till  the  field.  This  is  the  para- 
dox of  a  region  whose  softer  scenes  will  often 
seem  to  be  overborne  by  bleak  mountain  and 
desert  and  lava  bed;  that  if  you  own  ten  acres 
15 


of  irrigated  land  here  you  are  that  much- 
vaunted  but  seldom-encountered  individual,  an 
independent  farmer.  You  may  smile  in  a 
superior  way  when  you  hear  talk  of  the  profits 
of  bank  stock.  You  may  look  without  envy 
upon  the  man  who  is  said  to  own  a  gold  mine. 
Scattered  by  the  way  are  sleepy  Mexican  vil- 
lages, ancient  Indian  pueblos,  still  inhabited, 
and  those  older  abandoned  ruins  which  give  to 
the  region  its  peculiar  atmosphere  of  mystery. 
The  history  of  New  Mexico  formerly  began 
with  a  pretty  legend  that  dated  back  to  a  time 
in  Spain  when  a  sovereign  fighting  amid  his 
native  mountains  found  himself  hemmed  in  by 
the  enemy,  and  would  have  perished  with  all 
his  army  had  not  one  of  his  enterprising  sol- 
diers discovered  an  unsuspected  pass,  the  en- 
trance to  which  he  marked  with  a  bleached 
cow's  skull  that  lay  convenient  to  his  hand,  and 
then  returning  led  a  retreat  through  the  pass 
to  safety.  By  order  of  the  grateful  king  the 
family  name  of  the  soldier  was  thereupon  made 
Cabeza  de  Vaca — cow's  head — to  celebrate  so 
opportune  a  service.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  got 
a  doubloon  or  two  as  well,  but  on  that  particu- 
lar head  tradition  is  silent.  However,  among 
the  soldier's  descendants  a  talent  for  discovery 
became  a  notorious  family  trait.  It  amounted 
to  a  passion  with  them.  You  could  not  get 
into  any  difficulty  but  a  Cabeza  de  Vaca  could 
find  you  a  way  out.  Naturally,  then,  when 
Narvaez  set  sail  from  Spain  for  the  Florida 
coast,  three  and  a  half  centuries  ago,  he  took 
one  of  that  family  along  for  a  mascot.  The 
expedition  came  to  grief  on  the  Florida  reefs 
16 


but  the  mascot  survived,  and  with  him  three 
others  who  had  wisely  clung  to  him  when  the 
ship  went  to  pieces.  Stranded  upon  an  un- 
known coast,  menaced  by  hostile  Indians,  an 
ocean  behind  and  a  wilderness  before,  this  Ca- 
beza  de  Vaca  felt  his  heart  strangely  stirred 
within  him.  He  gave  no  thought  to  the  dangers 
of  his  situation  ;  he  perceived  only  that  he  had 
the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime  to  discover  some- 
thing. So,  remembering  that  in  far  Mexico  his 
fellow  countrymen  were  known  to  dwell,  he 
pretended  to  pull  a  long  face  and  told  his  com- 
panions that  to  reach  the  Mexican  settlements 
was  the  only  hope  of  surviving.  Then  brand- 
ishing his  sword  in  a  becoming  manner  he 
called  to  them  to  come  on,  and  led  them  across 
the  unexplored  continent  of  North  America, 
in  the  year  of  grace  1536,  by  a  route  that  inci- 
dentally included  what  is  now  known  as  New 
Mexico.  Thus,  in  substance,  runs  the  legend, 
which  adds  that  he  had  a  queer  tale  to  tell,  on 
arrival,  of  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola,  and  outland- 
ish people  of  heathen  appearance  and  notions, 
but  of  temperate  and  industrious  habits  withal, 
and  presumably  rich  in  treasures 
of  silver  and  gold;  which  incited 
Coronado  to  send  out  an  expedition 
under  Marcos  de  Nizza  in  1539,  and  j| 
17 


a  year  later  himself  to  take  charge  of  the  first 
real  invasion,  conquering  native  towns  by  force 
of  arms  on  his  way. 

But  in  the  light  of  modern  historical  research 
Cabeza  de  Vaca's  local  fame  dwindles ;  his 
head  diminishes.  It  is  denied  that  he  ever 
saw  New  Mexico,  and  the  title  of  discoverer  is 
awarded  to  Marcos  de  Nizza.  It  does  not  really 
matter,  for  in  either  event  the  conquest  was  by 
Coronado,  in  whose  footsteps  Spanish  coloni- 
zation was  first  enabled  to  advance  into  the  ter- 
ritory, which,  it  should  be  remembered,  was  for 
a  long  time  thereafter  a  vaguely  defined  area 
of  much  greater  extent  than  to-day.  The  friars 
early  began  their  work  of  founding  missions, 
and  in  the  course  of  time  established  forty 
churches,  attended  by  some  30,000  native  com- 
municants. These  natives  revolted  in  1680, 
and  drove  the  Spaniards  out  of  the  territory, 
successfully  resisting  their  return  for  a  period 
of  twelve  years.  From  the  time  of  their  ulti- 
mate subjection  (1692)  the  country  grew  in  pop- 
ulation and  commercial  importance  until,  early 
in  the  present  century,  its  trade  with  Missouri 
and  the  East  became  very  valuable.  The  route 
traversed  by  pack-mules  and  prairie  schooners 
loaded  with  merchandise  will  forever  be  re- 
membered as  the  Santa  Fe  Trail,  and  was 
almost  identical  with  that  followed  by  Coro- 
nado. It  is  at  present,  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  distance,  the  route  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka 
&  Santa  Fe  Railway  between  the  Missouri 
River  and  Santa  Fe ;  and  through  western 
Kansas,  southeastern  Colorado,  over  the  Raton 
Pass,  and  at  many  points  in  New  Mexico  may 
18 


easily  be  seen  from  the  train.  The  distance 
was  800  miles,  and  a  round  trip  then  consumed 
no  days.  Merchandise  to  an  enormous  value 
was  often  carried  by  a  single  caravan.  In  spite 
of  the  protection  of  a  strong  military  escort 
the  trail  was  almost  continuously  sodden  with 
human  blood  and  marked  by  hundreds  of  rude 
graves  dug  for  the  mutilated  victims  of  mur- 
derous Apaches  and  other  tribes.  Every  scene 
recounted  by  romances  of  Indian  warfare  had 
its  counterpart  along  the  Santa  Fe  trail.  The 
ambush,  the  surprise,  the  massacre,  the  cap- 
ture, the  torture,  in  terrifying  and  heart-break- 
ing detail,  have  been  enacted  over  and  over. 
Only  with  the  advent  of  the  railroad  did  the 
era  of  peace  and  security  begin.  To-day  the 
Apache  is  decimated  and  harmless,  and,  with 
the  Pueblo  Indian  and  the  Mexican,  forms  a 
romantic  background  to  a  thriving  Anglo- 
Saxon  civilization. 

It  is  this  background  that  gives  New  Mexico 
its  peculiar  charm  to  the  thoughtful  tourist;  not 
alone  its  tremendous  mountain-ranges,  its  ex- 
tensive uplands,  its  fruitful  valleys,  or  its  unsur- 
passed equability  of  climate.  Its  population 
includes  8,000  Pueblo  Indians,  25,000  Navajoes, 
1,300  Apaches,  and  100,000  Mexicans. 

LAS   VEGAS   HOT   SPRINGS. 

The  little  Rio  Gallinas  issues  by  a  tortuous 
path  through  rugged  tree-fringed  canon-walls 
from  a  spur  of  the  Rockies  half  a  dozen  miles 
northwest  from  the  city  of  Las  Vegas.  Upon 
its  banks,  at  a  point  just  above  where  it  de-  • 
bouches  upon  the  vegas,  or  meadows,  numer- 
19 


ous  springs  both  cold  and  hot  rise  to  the  surface 
in  close  juxtaposition,  their  waters  charged 
with  a  variety  of  chemical  ingredients.  The 
medicinal  virtues  of  these  springs,  supple- 
mented by  the  attractiveness  of  their  location 
upon  a  shoulder  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
mildness  and  purity  always  characteristic  of 
New  Mexican  air,  led  to  the  erection  of  the 
spacious  and  beautiful  Hotel  Montezuma,  and 
the  establishment  here  of  a  health  resort.  It 
is  one  of  the  few  places  in  the  Middle  West 
where  a  stranger  may  find  contentment  day 
after  day  in  comparative  idleness.  The  imme- 
diate scenery  has  not  the  prodigiously  heroic 
qualities  of  the  more  famous  Colorado  resorts, 
but  it  is  endlessly  attractive  to  the  lover  of 
nature  in  her  less  titanic  moods.  If  you  love 
the  pine  and  the  fir,  here  you  may  have  your  fill 
of  them.  If  you  are  fond  of  a  bit  of  precipitous 
climbing,  you  may  find  it  here  on  every  hand. 
If  you  are  for  quiet  shaded  nooks,  or  lofty 
pulpit  perches  that  overhang  a  pretty  clattering 
stream  in  deep  solitudes,  here  they  abound. 
And  from  the  adjacent  hilltops  are  to  be  had 
wide-sweeping  views  eastward  over  the  vegas 
and  westward  over  rocky  folds  to  where  the 
blue  masses,  of  the  mountain  chain  are  piled 
against  the  sky.  There  are  wagon -roads  wind- 
ing over  hill  and  through  glen,  past  the  verge 
of  canons  and  penetrating  deep  into  the  forest, 
and  narrower  branching  trails  for  the  pedestrian 
and  the  horseman.  Who  fails  to  explore  these 
intimately  will  miss  the  full  charm  of  Las  Vegas 
Hot  Springs.  It  is  a  place  in  which  to  be  rest- 
fully  happy. 

20 


21 


Every  known  form  of  bath  is  administered  in 
the  bath  house  at  the  Springs,  a  resident  physi- 
cian is  in  charge,  and  the  equable  air  and  almost 
unbroken  sunlight  of  the  long  peaceful  day  are 
themselves  a  remedy  for  physical  ills  that  are 
incurable  in  the  harsh  climes  of  the  North  and 
East.  It  is  not,  as  might  be  inferred,  a  place 
of  distressful  heat,  but  a  land  of  soft  golden 
light  whose  parallel  is  the  most  perfect  day  of 
a  New  England  spring.  And  although  the 
environment  of  the  Montezuma  represents  the 
climax'of  natural  remedial  conditions,  joined  to 
comfort  and  luxury,  the  whole  territory  is  su- 
premely healthful  .containing  numerous  special 
localities  that  differ  in  elevation  and  in  conse- 
quent adaptation  to  the  requirements  of  the 
complications  of  disease.  Raton,  Springer,  Las 
Vegas  proper,  Santa  Fe,  and  Albuquerque,  all 
are  health  resorts  of  high  merit  along  the  pres- 
ent route  through  New  Mexico.  South  of 
Albuquerque  are  several  admirable  resorts  of 
lower  altitude,  such  as  Las  Cruces,  in  the 
Mesilla  Valley,  Hudson  Hot  Springs,  in  the 
Mimbres  Valley,  and  El  Paso,  in  Texas. 

SANTA   FE. 

In  1605  the  Spaniards  founded  this  city  under 
the  name  La  Cmdad  Real  de  la  Santa  Fe  de 
San  Francisco  (the  True  City  of  the  Holy  Faith 
of  St.  Francis),  which,  like  many  another  pon- 
derous Spanish  title,  has  been  reduced  to  lower 
terms  in  the  lapse  of  time, 
traordinary  interest  of 
its  early  days  is 
kept  alive  by  monu- 


ments  which  the  kindly  elements  protect  from 
the  accustomed  ravages  of  the  centuries.  The 
territorial  governor  to-day  receives  his  guests 
in  the  same  room  that  served  visitors  in  the  time 
of  the  first  viceroy.  Eighteen  American  and 
seventy-six  Mexican  and  Spanish  rulers  have 
successively  occupied  the  palace.  It  has  sur- 
vived all  those  strange  modulations  by  which  a 
Spanish  province  has  become  a  territory  of  the 
Union  bordering  on  statehood.  The  story  of 
the  palace  stretches  back  into  real  antiquity,  to 
a  time  when  the  Inquisition  had  powers,  when 
zealous  friars  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis  ex- 
horted throngs  of  dimly  comprehending  hea- 
then, and  when  the  mailed  warriors  of  Coronado 
told  marvelous  uncontradicted  tales  of  ogres 
that  were  believed  to  dwell  in  the  surrounding 
wilderness.  Beneath  its  roof  are  garnered 
priceless  treasures  of  that  ancient  time,  which 
the  curious  visitor  may  behold.  There  are 
faded  pictures  of  saints  painted  upon  puma- 
skins;  figures  laboriously  wrought  in  wood  to 
shadow  forth  the  Nazarene;  votive  offerings  of 
silver,  in  the  likeness  of  legs,  arms  and  hands, 
brought  to  the  altar  of  Our  Lady  by  those  who 
had  been  healed  of  wounds  or  disease;  rude 
stone  gods  of  the  heathen,  and  domestic  uten- 
sils and  implements  of  war.  There,  too,  may 
be  seen  ancient  maps  of  the  New  World,  let- 
tered in  Latin  and  in  French,  on  which  Cali- 
fornia appears  as  an  island  of  the  Pacific,  and 
the  country  at  large  is  confidently  displayed 
with  grotesque  inaccuracy. 

Nearly  a  mile   distant  from 
the  palace,  on  an  eminence  over- 
24 


looking  the  town,  stands  the  old  Chapel  Ro- 
sario,  now  neighbored  by  the  Ramona  school 
for  Apache  children.  In  1692  Diego  de  Vargas, 
marching  up  from  the  south,  stood  upon 
that  hill  with  his  little  army  of  200  men  and 
looked  over  into  the  city  from  which  his 
countrymen  had  been  driven  with  slaughter 
a  dozen  years  before.  There  he  knelt  and 
vowed  to  build  upon  the  spot  a  chapel  for  the 
glorification  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Rosary,  pro- 
vided she  would  fight  upon  his  side  that  day. 
The  town  was  carried  by  assault  after  a  desper- 
ate contest  of  eleven  hours'  duration,  and  the 
chapel  was  built.  It  savors  quaintly  to  us  of  a 
less  poetic  age  that  those  royal  old  adventurers 
should  have  thought  themselves  hand  and  glove 
with  the  celestial  powers;  but  they  certainly 
made  acknowledgment  of  services  supposed  to 
have  been  rendered,  upon  occasion. 

There  are  other  places  of  antiquarian  inter- 
est, where  are  stored  Spanish  archives  cover- 
ing two  and  a  quarter  centuries,  and  numerous 
paintings   and    carvings    of   great    age ;    the 
26 


Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Light,  the  Cathedral 
of  San  Francisco,  and  finally  the  Church  of 
San  Miguel  and  the  Old  House,  isolated  from 
everything  that  is  in  touch  with  our  century  by 
their  location  in  the  heart  of  a  decrepit  old 
Mexican  village.  Here,  at  last,  is  the  real 
Santa  Fe  of  the  traveler's  anticipation;  a  strag- 
gling aggregation  of  low  adobe  huts,  divided 
by  narrow  winding  lanes,  where  in  the  sharply 
defined  shadows  leathern-faced  old  men  and 
women  sit  in  vacuous  idleness  and  burros 
loaded  with  firewood  or  garden  truck  pass  to 
and  fro;  and  in  small  groups  of  chattering 
women  one  catches  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
bright  interrogating  eyes  and  a  saucy  hand- 
some face,  in  spite  of  the  closely  drawn  tapelo. 
If  now  some  sturdy  figure  in  clanking  armor 
should  obligingly  pass  along,  you  would  have 
an  exact  picture  of  the  place  as  it  appeared 
two  and  a  half  centuries  ago.  Nothing  but 
that  figure  has  departed  from  the  scene,  and 
substantially  nothing  new  has  entered  in.  It 
does  not  change.  The  hurrying  activities  and 
transitions  of  the  outer  world,  from  which  it  is 
separated  by  only  a  narrow  arroyo,  count  for 
nothing  here.  One  questions  if  the  outline  of 
a  shadow  has  altered  for  generations.  The 
Old  House,  where  Coronado  is  said  to  have 
lodged  in  1540,  and  the  Church  of  San  Miguel, 
which  was  sacked  in  1680  and  rehabilitated  in 
1710,  are  not  distinguishable  from  their  sur- 
roundings by  any  air  of  superior  age.  All  is 
old,  a  petrifaction  of  medieval  human  life  done 
in  adobe. 

27 


More  than  a  score  of  these  many-cham- 
bered communal  homes  are  scattered  over 
^*^!  the    territory,    three    of    the    most  impor- 
:jjr^  tant  of  which  may  be  mentioned  as  lying 
£3|  adjacent  to  the  present  route:    Isleta,  La- 
guna,   and    Acoma.      Isleta    and    Laguna 
are  within   a    stone's   throw  of   the  railroad, 
ten    miles    and    sixty-six    miles    respectively 
beyond  Albuquerque,  and  Acoma  is  reached 
from  either  Laguna  or  Cubero  by  a  drive  of  a 
dozen  miles.     The  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  the 
pueblos,  an  intelligent,  complex,  industrious, 
and  independent  race,  are  anomalous  among 
North  American  natives.     Many  are  housed 
to-day  in  the  self-same  structures  in  which  their 
forebears  were  discovered,  and  in  three  and  a 
half  centuries  of  contact  with  Europeans  their 
manner  of  life    has  not   materially  changed. 
The    Indian    tribes  that   roamed   over  moun- 
tain   and    plain    have   become    wards   of   the 
Government,  debased   and  denuded  of  what- 
ever of  dignity  they  once   possessed,  ascribe 
what  cause  you  will  for  their  present  condition. 
But  the   Pueblo  Indian  has  absolutely  main- 
tained the  integrity  of  his  individuality,  self- 
respecting  and  self-sufficient.     The  extent  to 
which    he    has    adopted    the    religion   of   his 
28 


Spanish  conquerors,  or  the  teachings  of  his 
present  guardians,  amounts  to  only  a  slight 
concession  from  his  persistent  conservatism. 

Laborious  efforts  have  been  made  to  pen- 
etrate the  reserve  with  which  the  involved 
inner  life  of  this  strange  child  of  the  desert  is 
guarded,  but  it  lies  like  a  vast  dark  continent 
behind  a  dimly  visible  shore,  and  he  dwells 
within  the  shadowy  rim  of  a  night  that  yields 
no  ray  to  tell  of  his  origin.  He  is  a  true  pagan, 
swathed  in  seemingly  dense  clouds  of  super- 
stition, rich  in  fanciful  legend,  and  profoundly 
ceremonious  in  religion.  His  gods  are  innu- 
merable. Not  even  the  ancient  Greeks  pos- 
sessed a  more  populous  Olympus.  On  that 
austere  yet  familiar  height  gods  of  peace  and 
of  war,  of  the  chase,  of  bountiful  harvest  and 
of  famine,  of  sun  and  rain  and  snow,  elbow  a 
thousand  others  for  standing-room.  The  trail 
of  the  serpent  has  crossed  his  history,  too,  and 
he  frets  his  pottery  with  an  imitation  of  its 
scales,  and  gives  the  rattlesnake  a  prominent 
place  among  his  deities.  Unmistakably  a 
30 


pagan,  yet  the  purity  and  well-being  of  his 
communities  will  bear  favorable  comparison 
with  those  of  the  enlightened  world.  He  is 
brave,  honest,  and  enterprising  within  the 
fixed  limits  of  his  little  sphere,  his  wife  is  vir- 
tuous, his  children  are  docile.  And  were  the 
whole  earth  swept  bare  of  every  living  thing, 
save  for  a  few  leagues  surrounding  his  tribal 
home,  his  life  would  show  little  disturbance. 
Possibly  he  might  not  at  once  learn  of  so 
unimportant  an  occurrence.  He  would  still 
alternately  labor  and  relax  in  festive  games, 
still  reverence  his  gods,  and  rear  his  children 
to  a  life  of  industry  and  content,  so  anoma- 
lous is  he,  so  firmly  established  in  an  absolute 
independence. 

Pueblo  architecture  possesses  nothing  of  the 
elaborate  ornamentation  found  in  so-called 
Aztec  ruins  in  Mexico.  The  house  is  usually 
built  of  stone,  covered  with  adobe  cement,  and 
is  severely  plain.  It  is  commonly  two  or  three 
stories  in  height,  of  terrace  form,  and  joined  to 
its  neighbors.  The  prevailing  entrance  is  by 
means  of  a  ladder  to  the  roof  of  the  lowest 
story. 

The  most  strikingly  interesting  of  New 
Mexican  pueblos  is  Acoma.  It  is  built  upon 


the    summit    of    a    table-rock    with 
eroded    precipitous    sides,    350    feet 
above  the  plain,  which  is  7,000  feet 
above    the    sea.      Acoma  pueblo    is 
1,000  feet  in  length  and  40  feet  high, 
and    there    is   besides    a    church  of 
enormous    proportions.     Formerly  it 
was    reached    only    by  a    hazardous 
stairway     in    the    rock,     up    which 
the    inhabitants    carried    upon  their 
backs     every    particle    of    the    ma- 
terials  of  which  the  village  is  con- 
structed;   but    easier    pathways 
now  exist.     The  graveyard  con- 
sumed forty  years    in    building, 
by  reason  of   the  necessity 
of  bringing  earth  from  the 
plain  below;  and  the  church 

must  have  cost  the  labor 
of  many  generations,  for 
its  walls  are  60  feet  high  and  10  feet  thick, 
and  it  has  timbers  40  feet  long  and  14  inches 
square. 

The  Acomas  welcomed  the  soldiers  of  Coro- 
nado  with  deference,  ascribing  to  them  celes- 
tial origin.  Subsequently,  upon  learning  the 
distinctly  human  character  of  the  Spaniards, 
they  professed  allegiance,  but  afterward  wan- 
tonly slew  a  dozen  of  Zaldivar's  men.  By 
way  of  reprisal  Zaldivar  headed  three-score 
soldiers  and  undertook  to  carry  the  sky-citadel 
by  assault.  After  a  three  days'  hand-to-hand 
struggle  the  Spaniards  stood  victors  upon  that 
seemingly  impregnable  fortress,  and  received 
the  submission  of  the  Queres,  who  for  three- 

32 


quarters  of  a  century  thereafter  remained  tract- 
able. In  that  interval  the  priest  came  to 
Acoma  and  held  footing  for  fifty  years,  until 
the  bloody  uprising  of  1680  occurred,  in  which 
priest,  soldier,  and  settler  were  massacred  or 
driven  from  the  land,  and  every  vestige  of 
their  occupation  was  extirpated.  After  the 
resubjection  of  the  natives  by  Diego  de  Vargas 
the  present  church  was  constructed,  and  the 
Pueblos  have  not  since  rebelled  against  the 
contiguity  of  the  white  man. 

Anciently,  according  to  a  native  tradition, 
for  which  Mr.  C.  F.  Lummis  is  authority,  the 
original  pueblo  of  Acoma  stood  upon  the  crest 
of  the  Enchanted  Mesa,  430  feet  above  the  val- 
ley, three  miles  away,  but  its  only  approach 
was  one  day  destroyed  by  the  falling  of  a  cliff, 
and  three  sick  women,  who  chanced  to  be  the 
only  occupants  —  the  remainder  of  the  popula- 
tion being  at  work  in  the  fields 
below  —  perished  there,  beyond 
reach  of  aid  from  their  people, 
who  then  built  a  new  pueblo  on 
the  present  site.  In  1897  an  East- 
ern college  professor  laid  siege  to 
the  Mesa  Encantada  with  a  mor- 
tar and  several  miles  of  assorted 
ropes,  supplemented  by  pulleys,  a 
boatswain's  chair,  and  a  team  of 
horses.  By  these  aids  the  summit 
was  reached,  but  the  party  reported 
that  nothing  was  found  to  indicate 
that  it  had  ever  been  visited  be- 
fore by  man.  A  few  weeks  later 
Dr.  F.  W.  Hodge,  of  the  Bureau  of 

33 


Ethnology,  made  the  ascent  with  several  com- 
panions, aided  by  a  few  short  ladders,  a  guide 
rope,  and  experience  in  mountaineering.  This 
party  found  a  number  of  potsherds  and  frag- 
ments of  implements  and  ornaments,  all  of 
ancient  type,  and  vigorously  championed  the 
claim  that  the  mesa  was  once  inhabited. 

Afterward,  another  party,  including  Mr. 
Lummis,  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan,  and  Prof.  T. 
H.  Hittell,  similarly  ascended  and  were  simi- 
larly rewarded.  The  adherents  of  the  legend 
assert  that  the  gnawing  tooth  of  centuries  of 
summer  storm  and  winter  frost  would  inevi- 
tably denude  the  summit  of  every  relic  of  that 
olden  time  save  such  as  have  been  securely 
pocketed  in  crevices  instead  of  washing  away. 
The  talus  of  the  mesa  abounds  in  ancient 
potsherds,  and  the  rapid  annual  rise  of  rock 
34 


detritus  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  not  only  lends 
corroboration  but  shows  how  recently  the  mesa 
has  ceased  to  be  unscalable.  Even  so,  it  will 
be  long  before  the  casual  tourist  will  aspire  to 
its  giddy  crest. 


III. 

ARIZONA. 

JHE  portion  to  be  traversed  is  a  land  of 
prodigious  mountain  terraces,  exten- 
sive plateaus,  profound  canons,  and 
flat,  arid  plains,  dotted  with  gardens 
of  fruits  and  flowers,  patched  with  vast  tracts 
of  pine  timber,  and  veined  with  precious  stones 
and  metals,  alternating  with  desolate  beds  of 
lava,  bald  mountainous  cones  of  black  and  red 
volcanic  cinder,  grass-carpeted  parks,  uncouth 
vegetable  growths  of  the  desert,  and  bleak 
rock  spires,  above  all  which  white  peaks  gleam 
radiantly  in  almost  perpetual  sunlight.  The 
long-time  residents  of  this  region  are  unable  to 
shake  off  its  charm,  even  when  no  longer  com- 
pelled by  any  other  consideration  to  remain. 
Its  frequent  wide  stretches  of  rugged  horizon 
35 


exert  a  fascination  no  less  powerful  than  that 
of  arduous  mountain  fastnesses  or  the  secret 
shadows  of  the  dense  forest.  There  is  the 
same  dignity  of  Nature,  the  same  mystery, 
potent  even  upon  those  who  can  least  define  its 
thrall.  Miners  confess  to  it,  and  herdsmen. 
To  the  traveler  it  will  appear  a  novel  environ- 
ment for  contemporaneous  American  life,  this 


land  of  sage  and  mesquite,  of  frowning  vol- 
canic piles,  shadowed  canons,  lofty  mesas  and 
painted  buttes.  It  seems  fitter  for  some  cyclo- 
pean  race;  for  the  pterodactyl  and  the  behe- 
moth. Its  cliffs  are  flung  in  broad,  sinuous 
lines  that  approach  and  recede  from  the  way, 
their  contour  incessantly  shifting  in  the  simili- 
tude of  caverns,  corridors,  pyramids,  monu- 
ments, and  a  thousand  other  forms  so  full  of 
structural  idea  they  seem  to  be  the  unfinished 
work  of  some  giant  architect  who  had  planned 
more  than  he  could  execute. 
36 


The  altitude  is  practically  the  same  as  that  of 
the  route  through  New  Mexico,  undulating 
between  5,000  and  7,000  feet  above  sea-level, 
until  on  the  western  border  the  high  plateaus 
break  rapidly  down  to  an  elevation  of  less  than 
500  feet  at  the  valley  of  a  broad  and  capricious 
stream  that  flows  through  alternate  stretches  of 
rich  alluvial  meadow  and  barren  rock-spires  — 
obelisks  rising  against  the  sky.  This  stream  is 
the  Colorado  River,  wayward,  strenuous,  and 
possessed  of  creative  imagination  and  terrific 
energies  when  the  mood  is  on.  It  chiseled  the 
Grand  Canon,  far  to  the  north  and  east,  and 
now  complacently  saunters  ocean  ward.  Despite 
its  quiet  air,  not  long  ago,  it  conceived  the 
whim  to  make  a  Salton  Sea  far  to  the  south, 
and  the  affair  was  a  national  sensation  for 
many  months.  The  great  cantilever  bridge  that 
spans  it  here  was  made  necessary  by  the  restless 
spirit  of  the  intractable  stream.  Only  a  few 
years  ago  the  crossing  was  by  means  of  a  huge 
pile  bridge  several  miles  toward  the  north;  but 
the  river  shifted  its  channel  so  frequently  it  was 
thought  desirable  to  build  a  new  bridge  down 
here  among  the  enduring  obelisks,  which  are 
known  as  The  Needles.  It  is  a  picturesque 
spot,  full  of  color,  and  the  air  has  a  pure  trans- 
parency that  lends  depth  and  distance  to  the 
view,  such  as  the  bird  knows  in  its  flight.  The 
Needles  form  the  head  of  the  gorgeously  beau- 
tiful Mojave  Canon,  hidden  from  view.  The 
Colorado  is  an  inveterate  lover  of  a  chaotic  chan- 
nel. It  is  its  genius  to  create  works  of  art  on 
a  scale  to  awe  the  spirit 
of  cataclysm  itself.  It 

37       •ST^ 


is  a  true  Hellespont,  issuing  from  Cimmerian 
gloom  to  loiter  among  sunny  fields,  which  it 
periodically  waters  with  a  fertilizing  flood;  and 
while  you  follow  its  gentle  sweep  it  breaks  into 
sudden  uproar  and  hews  a  further  path  of  des- 
olation and  sublimity.  One  who  does  not  know 
the  canons  of  the  Colorado  has  never  experi- 
enced the  full  exaltation  of  those  impersonal 
emotions  to  which  the  Arts  are  addressed. 
There  only  are  audience-halls  fit  for  the  trage- 
dies of  ^schylus,  for  Dante  and  the  Sagas. 

The  known  history  of  Arizona  begins  with 
the  same  Mark  of  Nice  whom  we  have  already 
accredited  as  the  discoverer  of  New  Mexico,  of 
which  this  territory  was  long  a  part;  and  here, 
as  well,  he  was  followed  by  Coronado  and  the 
missionaries.  This  is  the  true  home  of  the 
Apache,  whose  unsparing  warfare  repeatedly 
destroyed  the  work  of  early  Spanish  civiliza- 
tion and  won  the  land  back  for  a  time  to 
heathenesse.  Its  complete  acquisition  by  the 
United  States  dates  from  1853,  and  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Civil  War  it  was  again  devastated. 
After  its  reoccupation  by  California  troops  in 
1862,  settlers  began  to  penetrate  its  northern 
portion.  Nearly  twenty  years  later  the  first 
railroad  spanned  its  boundaries,  and  then 
finally  it  became  a  tenable  home  for  the  Saxon, 
although  the  well-remembered  outbreak  of 
Geronimo  occurred  only  ten  years  ago.  To-day 
the  war-thirsty  Apaches  are  widely  scattered 
among  distant  reservations,  and  with  them  has 
departed  the  last  existing  element  of  disturb- 
ance. But  Arizona  will  never  lose  its  peculiar 
atmosphere  of  extreme  antiquity,  for  in  addi- 
38 


tion  to  those  overwhelming  chasms  that  have 
lain  unchanged  since  the  infancy  of  the  world, 
it  contains  within  its  borders  the  ruins  of  once 
populous  cities,  maintained  by  an  enormous 
irrigation  system  which  our  modern  science  has 
not  yet  outdone;  whose  history  was  not  written 
upon  any  lasting  scroll;  whose  peoples  are 
classed  among  the  undecipherable  antiquities  of 
our  continent,  their  deeds  unsung,  their  heroes 
unchronicled  and  unknown. 

Yet,  if  you  have  a  chord  for  the  heroic,  hardly 
shall  you  find  another  land  so  invigorating  as 
this  of  Arizona.  It  stiffens  the  mental  fiber 
like  a  whiff  of  the  north  wind.  It  stirs  in  the 
blood  dim  echoes  of  days  when  achievement 
lay  in  the  might  of  the  individual  arm;  when 
sword  met  targe  in  exhilarating  struggles  for 
supremacy.  The  super-refinement  of  cities 
dissipates  here.  There  is  a  tonic  breeze  that 
blows  toward  simple  relations  and  a  lusty  self- 
hood. 

PETRIFIED    FORESTS. 

From  remotest  epochs  earth  has  striven 
against  the  encroaching  slime  of  seas  in  a 
wasting  struggle  to  free  her  face  to  air.  Those 
who  are  learned  may  tell  you  where  she  is  left 
most  deeply  scarred  by  the  conflict,  but  in  this 
region  where  her  triumph,  if  barren,  is  com- 
plete, and  the  last  straggling  columns  of  her 
routed  foe  are  sourly  retreating  ocean  ward,  at 
least  her  wounds  are  bare,  and  with  them 
many  a  strange  record  which  she  thought  to 
lock  forever  in  her  bosom.  Long  ere  Noah  fell 
39 


adrift  with  the  heterogeneous  company  of  the 
ark,  or  Adam  was,  perhaps  even  before  the 
ancestral  ape  first  stood  erect  in  the  posture  of 
men  that  were  to  be,  forests  were  growing  in 
Arizona,  just -as  in  some  parts  they  grow  to- 
day. And  it  befell  in  the  course  of  time  that 
they  lay  prostrate  and  over  them  swept  the 
waters  of  an  inland  sea.  Eons  passed,  and 
sands  like  snowflakes  buried  them  so  deep  the 
plesiosaurus  never  suspected  their  grave  be- 
neath him  as  he  basked  his  monstrous  length 
in  the  tropic  waters  and  hungrily  watched  the 
pterodactyl  lolling  in  the  palm-shade  on  the 
rim.  Then  the  sea  vanished,  the  uncouth  den- 
izens of  its  deeps  and  shores  became  extinct, 
and  craters  belched  forth  volcanic  spume  to 
spread  a  further  mantle  of  oblivion  over  the 
past.  Yet  somewhere  the  chain  of  life  re- 
mained unbroken,  and  as  fast  as  there  came 
dust  for  worm  to  burrow  in,  mould  for  seed  to 
sprout  in,  and  leaf  for  insect  to  feed  on,  life 
crept  back  in  multiplying  forms,  only  to  retreat 
again  before  the  surge  of  elemental  strife  after 
40 


a  century  or  after  a  thousand  years.  The  pre- 
cise sequence  of  events  as  here  sketched  must 
not  be  too  critically  scanned.  The  aim  is  to  sug- 
gest an  approximate  notion,  to  those  who  pos- 
sess no  better,  of  some  prodigious  happenings 
which  have  a  bearing  on  our  immediate  theme. 
If  still  one  chance  to  lack  a  working  idea,  let 
him  remember  that  the  solid  surface  of  earth  is 
ceaselessly  changing  contour,  that  it  actually 
billows  like  the  ocean  sea.  It  merely  moves 
more  slowly,  for  if  the  gradual  upheavals  and 
depressions  of  the  earth's  crust  throughout  mil- 
lions of  years  were  performed  within  the  brief 
span  of  an  hour,  you  would  have  the  wildest 
conceivable  spectacle  of  cold  rock-strata  become 
as  fluctuant  as  water  and  leaping  and  falling 
in  waves  whose  crests  towered  miles  in  air, 
and  whose  lengths  were  measurable  by  half  a 
continent.  This  region  for  hundreds  of  square 
miles  was  once  sunk  so  low  the  ocean  over- 
flowed it ;  then  upheaved  so  high  the  brine 
could  find  no  footing.  Again  a  partial  depres- 
sion made  it  a  vast  repository  of  rivers  that 
drained  the  higher  levels,  which  in  time  was 
expelled  by  a  further  upheaval.  During  the 
periods  of  subsidence  the  incoming  waters  de- 
posited sand  and  silt,  which  time  hardened  to 
rock.  But  in  periods  of  upheaval  the  process 
was  reversed  and  the  outgoing  waters  gnawed 
the  mass  and  labored  constantly  to  bear  it 
away. 

So,  to  return  to  our  long-buried  forest,  some 
10,000  feet  of  rock  was  deposited  over  it, 
and  subsequently  eroded  clean  away.  And 


when  these  ancient  logs  were  uncovered,  and, 
like  so  many  Van  Winkles,  they  awoke  —  but 
from  a  sleep  many  thousand  times  longer  — to 
the  sight  of  a  world  that  had  forgotten  them,  lo 
the  sybaritic  chemistry  of  nature  had  trans- 
formed them  every  one  into  chalcedony,  topaz, 
onyx,  carnelian,  agate  and  amethyst.  Thou- 
sands of  acres  are  thickly  strewn  with  trunks 
and  segments  of  trunks,  and  covered  with  chip- 
like  fragments.  There  are  several  separated 
tracts,  any  one  of  which  will  seem  to  the  aston- 
ished beholder  an  inexhaustible  store  of  gems, 
measurable  by  no  smaller  phrase  than  millions 
of  tons  ;  a  profusion  of  splinters,  limbs,  and 
logs,  every  fragment  of  which  as  it  lies  would 
adorn  the  collector's  cabinet,  and,  polished  by 
the  lapidary,  might  embellish  a  crown.  Some 
of  these  prostrate  trees  of  stone  are  over  100 
feet  in  length  and  7  or  8  feet  in  diameter, 
although  they  are  most  frequently  broken  into 
sections  by  transverse  fracture.  One  of  these 
huge  trunks,  its  integrity  still  spared  by  time, 
spans  a  canon  50  feet  wide  —  a  bridge  of  jasper 
and  agate  overhanging  a  tree-fringed  pool — 
strange  embodiment  of  a  seer's  rhapsody, 
squandered  upon  a  desert  far  from  the  habi- 
tation of  men. 

The  largest  and  best  known  of  the  petri- 
fied forests  lie  from  twenty  to  thirty 
miles  distant  from  Holbrook,  where  large 
parties  will  find  the  most  satisfactory  avail- 
able hotel  accommodations,  and  abundant 
facilities  for  local  transportation.  Individual 
visitors,  or  small  parties,  will  minimize  time, 
cost  and  fatigue  by  leaving  the  train  at  Ada- 
42 


mana,  a  little  station  between  Billings  and 
Carrizo.  Mr.  Adam  Hanna,  a  companionable 
Scotchman,  lives  with  his  family  within  call, 
and  will  provide  wholesome  ranch  fare  for  a 
somewhat  limited  number  of  visitors,  and 
convey  them  to  the  nearest  of  the  forests,  only 
seven  miles  away.  This  particular  tract  em- 
braces several  hundred  acres,  includes  the 
natural  log-bridge  above  mentioned,  and  will 
amply  reward  a  visit. 

MOKIS. 

The  Moki  pueblos  are  seven  in  number: 
Oraibi,  Shungopavi,  Shipaulovi,  Mishonginovi, 
Wolpi,  Sichomovi,  and  Tewa(also  called  Hano). 
They  are  embraced  in  a  locality  less  than  thirty 
miles  across,  and  are  the  citadels  of  a  region 
which  the  discovering  Spaniards  in  the  six- 
teenth century  named  the  Province  of  Tusayan. 
They  are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  "  Seven 
Cities  of  Cibola,"  whose  imaginary  treasures 
attracted  the  plundering  conquerors,  and  whose 
site  is  now  known  to  be  Zuni,  in  New  Mexico. 
They  are  reached  by  two  days'  journey  to  the 
north  from  Canon  Diablo,  Holbrook,  or  Wins- 
low,  and  by  longer  routes  from  Flagstaff,  or 
from  Gallup  in  New  Mexico.  Like  Acoma  they 
are  perched  on  the  crests  of  lofty  mesas,  and  at 
the  first  were  well-nigh  inaccessible  to  enemies, 
their  only  approach  being  by  way  of  narrow, 
precipitous  foot  trails.  In  modern  time  less 
difficult  paths  have  been  constructed,  such 
fortress  homes  being  no  longer  needful  for 
defense.  But  the  conservative  Mokis  continue 
to  live  as  lived  their  forebears  and  cling  to  their 
43 


MOKI  HAIRDRESSER. 
44 


high  dwelling  place.  The  women  toil  up  the 
trails  with  water  from  the  spring  below,  and 
the  men  returning  from  the  fields  climb  a  small 
mountain's  height  daily.  They  are  industrious, 
thrifty,  orderly,  and  mirthful,  and  are  probably 
the  best  entertained  people  in  the  world.  Sub- 
sisting almost  wholly  by  agriculture  in  an  arid 
region  of  uncertain  crops,  they  find  abundant 
time  between  their  labors  for  lighthearted 
dance  and  song,  and  for  elaborate  ceremonials, 
which  are  grotesque  in  the  Kachina,  or  masked 
dances,  ideally  poetic  in  the  Flute  dance,  and 
intensely  dramatic  in  the  Snake  dance.  Of  the 
last  two,  both  of  which  are  dramatized  prayers 
for  rain  at  an  appointed  season,  the  former  is 
picturesque  in  costume  and  ritual,  and  impres- 
sive in  solemn  beauty;  the  latter  is  grim  and 
startling,  reptiles  —  including  a  liberal  propor- 
tion of  rattlesnakes — being  employed  as  mes- 
sengers to  carry  petitions  to  the  gods  of  the 
underworld,  who  are  supposed  to  have  power 
over  the  rain  cloud.  To  the  onlooker  it  seems 
impossible  that  venomous  snakes  can  be  han- 
dled so  audaciously  without  inflicting  deadly 
wounds,  yet  it  is  positively  known  that  they 
are  in  no  wise  deprived  of  their  natural  power 
to  do  so.  There  are  those  who  claim  to  have 
seen  the  dancers  bitten  by  their  rattlesnake 
partners,  but  the  claim  lacks  confirmation  by 
careful  scientific  observers,  who  incline  to  the 
belief  that  the  snake  priests  avoid  injury  by 
dexterity  and  a  knowledge  of  reptile  ways.  It 
is  true  that  the  priests  possess  a  secret  anti- 
dote, to  which  they  resort  in  cases  of  snake- 
bite, which  occasionally  befalls  the  barefoot 
45 


natives,  but  even  in  the  land  of  the  snake 
dance  such  casualties  are  uncommon  and  the 
efficacy  of  the  antidote  remains  a  matter  for 
investigation.  That  the  dancers  are  some- 
times bitten  is  pretty  well  established,  but  the 
observer  may  not  have  distinguished  the  harm- 
less from  the  venomous  snakes,  which  are 
intermingled,  and  the  Mokis  are  reticent  to 
subsequent  inquiry. 

Moki  is  a  nickname.  It  is  said  to  signify 
"  dead,"  and  to  have  been  applied  at  a  time  of 
devastation  by  smallpox,  that  gift  of  civilized 
man  to  the  savage.  Among  themselves  they 
are  known  as  Hopi,  ' '  good  (or  peaceful) 
people."  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  name  so 
much  worthier  these  friendly  and  interesting 
aborigines  cannot  be  restored  to  current  usage. 

Extended  mention  of  the  Mokis  and  their 
customs,  with  ample  illustration,  will  be  found 
in  a  separate  publication,  "  The  Moki  Snake 
Dance  " 

CANON    DIABLO. 

This  is  a  profound  gash  in  the  plateau,  some 
225  feet  deep,  550  feet  wide,  and  many  miles 
long.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  volcanic  rent 
in  the  earth's  crust,  wedge-shaped,  and  terraced 
in  bare  dun  rock  down  to  the  thread  of  a  stream 
46 


that  trickles  through  the  notch.  It  is  one  of 
those  inconsequent  things  which  Arizona  is 
fond  of  displaying.  For  many  miles  you  are 
bowled  over  a  perfectly  level  plain,  and  without 
any  preparation  whatever,  save  only  to  slacken 
its  pace,  the  train  crosses  the  chasm  by  a 
spider-web  bridge  and  then  speeds  again  over 
the  self -same  placid  expanse.  In  the  darkness 
of  night  one  might  unsuspectingly  step  off  into 
its  void,  it  is  so  entirely  unlooked-for.  Yet,  re- 
markable as  is  the  Canon  Diablo,  in  comparison 
with  those  grand  gorges  hereafter  to  be  men- 
tioned, it  is  worth  little  better  than  an  idle 
glance  through  the  car  window  in  passing. 

FLAGSTAFF. 

Gateway  to  most  remarkable  ancient  ruins, 
to  one  of  the  most  practicable  and  delightful  of 
our  great  mountains,  and  to  the  Grand  Canon 
of  the  Colorado  River,  Flagstaff  is  itself  pic- 
torial in  character  and  rich  in  interest.  It 
stands  upon  a  clearing  in  an  extensive  pine 
forest  that  here  covers  the  plateau  and  clothes 
the  mountains  nearly  to  their  peaks;  although 
the  word  park  better  describes  this  sunlit,  grass- 
carpeted  expanse  of  widely  set  towering  pines, 
where  cattle  graze  and  the  horseman  may 
gallop  at  will.  Couched  at  the  foot  of  a  noble 
mountain  that  doffs  its  cap  of  snow  for  only  a 
few  weeks  of  the  year,  and  environed  by  vast 
resources  of  material  wealth  in  addition  to  its 
aggregation  of  spectacular  and  archaeological 
features,  its  fame  has  already  spread  widely 
over  the  world,  and  will  increase  with  time. 
Space  can  here  be  given  to  only  its  three  most 
47 


celebrated  possessions,  but  the  visitor  can  not 
hope  to  exhaust  its  attractions .  There  are  wood- 
land retreats  where  sculptured  rocks  tower  many 
hundred  feet  above  the  still  surface  of  pools; 
box  canons  where  myriads  of  trout  leap  from 
the  waters  of  the  stream  that  flows  through 
depths  of  shadow;  thickets  where  the  deer 
browses;  plains  where  the  antelope  courses, 
and  rocky  slopes  where  the  big  horn  clambers 
and  the  mountain-lion  dozes  in  the  sun. 

The  extraordinarily  pure  atmosphere  of  this 
elevated  region  and  the  predominance  of  clear 
weather  gave  Flagstaff  the  Lowell  Observa- 
tory. It  is  charmingly  situated  in  the  heart  of 
the  pines,  upon  a  hill  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  Visitors  are  made  welcome. 

SAN   FRANCISCO    MOUNTAIN. 

Here,  as  in  many  other  parts  of  the  West,  the 
actual  height  of  a  mountain  is  greater  than  is 
apparent  to  the  eye.  The  ascent  begins  at  a 
point  considerably  above  where  the  Eastern 
mountain  climber  leaves  off,  for  the  reason 
that  the  whole  region  is  itself  a  prodigious 
mountain,  hundreds  of  thousands  of  square 
miles  in  area,  of  which  the  projecting  peaks 
are  but  exalted  lookouts.  The  four  summits  of 
San  Francisco  Mountain  are  elevated  nearly 
13,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and  only  6,000  feet 
above  the  town  of  Flagstaff.  It  follows  that 
more  than  half  of  the  actual  ascent  has  been 
made  without  any  effort  by  the  traveler,  and 
the  same  altitude  is  attained  as  if  he  had 
48 


climbed  a  sheer  height  of  13,000  feet  upon  the 
rim  of  the  sea.  There  is  the  same  rarefaction 
of  air,  the  same  wide  range  over  an  empire 
that  lies  flat  beneath  the  eye,  limited  only  by 
the  interposition  of  other  mountains,  the  spher- 
ical contour  of  the  earth,  atmospheric  haze,  or 
the  power  of  vision  itself. 

The  apex  of  Humphrey's  Peak,  the  only 
summit  of  this  mountain  yet  practicable  for 
the  tourist,  is  little  more  than  ten  miles  from 
Flagstaff,  and  an  excellent  carriage  road  covers 
fully  seven  miles  of  the  distance.  From  the  end 
of  that  road  a  comfortable  bridle-path  leads  to 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  topmost  crag.  The  en- 
tire trip  may  be  made  on  horseback  if  desired, 
and  one  who  is  accustomed  to  the  saddle  will 
find  it  a  preferable  experience,  for  then  short 
cuts  are  taken  through  the  timber,  and  there  is 
so  much  the  more  of  freedom  and  the  charm  of 
an  untrammeled  forest.  The  road  crosses  a 
short  stretch  of  clearing  and  then  enters  the 
magnificent  pine  park,  rising  at  an  easy  grade 
and  offering  frequent  backward  glimpses.  The 
strained,  conscious  severity  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tain giants  is  wanting  here.  It  is  a  mountain 
without  egotism,  breathing  gentlest  dignity, 
and  frankly  fond  of  its  robe  of  verdure.  Birds 
flit  and  carol  in  its  treetops,  and  squirrels  play. 
Grass  and  fern  do  not  fear  to  make  soft -cush- 
ioned banks  to  allure  the  visitor,  flowers  riot  in 
their  season,  and  the  aspens  have  whole  hill- 
sides to  themselves ;  soft, 
twinkling  bowers  of  deli- 
cate green,  dells  where 
one  could  wish  to  lie  and 
49 


dream  through  long  summer  hours.  The 
bridle-path  begins,  with  the  conventional  zig- 
zag of  mountain-trails,  at  the  foot  of  a  steep 
grass-grown  terrace  that  lies  in  full  view  of  the 
spreading  panorama  below.  Above  that  sunny 
girdle  the  trail  winds  through  a  more  typical 
mountain  forest,  where  dead  stalks  of  pine  and 
fir  are  plentifully  sprinkled  among  the  living, 
and  ugly  swaths  show  where  the  avalanche  has 
passed.  Above  this,  for  the  remaining  few 
hundred  feet,  the  peaks  stand  bare  —  stern, 
swart  crags  that  brook  no  mantle  except  the 
snows,  encompassed  by  a  quiet  which  only  the 
wind  redeems  from  everlasting  silence. 

The  outlook  from  Humphrey's  Peak  is  one  of 
the  noblest  of  mountain  views.  It  commands  a 
recognizable  territory  of  not  less  than  seventy- 
five  thousand  square  miles,  with  vague  shadowy 
contours  beyond  the  circle  of  definite  vision. 
Categorically,  as  pointed  out  by  the  guide,  the 
main  features  of  the  landscape  are  as  follows : 
Directly  north,  the  farther  wall  of  the  Grand 
Canon,  at  the  Bright  Angel  Amphitheater,  fifty 
miles  away  ;  and  topping  that,  the  Buckskin 
Mountains  of  the  Kaibab  Plateau,  thirty  or 
forty  miles  farther  distant.  To  the  right,  the 
Navajo  Mountains,  near  the  Colorado  State 
line,  200  miles.  In  the  northeast,  the  wonder- 
ful Painted  Desert,  tinted  with  rainbow-hues, 
and  the  Navajo  Reservation.  Below  that  the 
Moqui  buttes  and  villages.  Toward  the  east, 
the  broad  plateau  and  desert  as  far  as  the 
divide  near  Navajo  Springs,  130  miles  east 
from  Flagstaff  by  the  railroad.  In  the  south- 
east the  White  Mountains,  more  than  200 
50 


miles.  In  the  south,  successively,  the  Mogollon 
Plateau,  a  group  of  a  dozen  lakes  —  unlocked 
for  sight  in  the  arid  lands  —  Baker's  Butte,  the 
Four  Peaks,  and  the  Superstition  Mountains 
near  Phoenix,  the  last  named  160  miles  distant. 
In  the  southwest,  the  Bradshaw  Mountains,  140 
miles;  Granite  Mountain  at  Prescott,  100  miles, 
and  the  Juniper  Range,  150  miles.  The  hori- 
zon directly  west  is  vague  and  doubtful,  but  is 
supposed  to  lie  near  the  California  line.  In  the 
northwest  a  distant  range  is  seen,  north  of  the 
Colorado  River  and  east  of  the  Nevada  line, 
perhaps  the  Sheavwits  or  the  Hurricane  Moun- 
tains. Among  the  less  remote  objects  are  the 
Coconino  forest  and  basin  on  the  north ;  on  the 
east  the  Little  Colorado,  traceable  by  its  fringe 
of  cotton  woods,  beds  of  lava  flung  like  the 
shadow  of  a  cloud  or  the  trail  of  a  conflagra- 
tion, and  Sunset  and  Peachblow  craters,  black 
cones  of  cinder  capped  with  red  scoria;  on  the 
south  and  southwest  Oak  Creek  Canon,  the  Je- 
rome smelters,  and  the  rugged  pictorial  break- 
down of  the  Verde;  under  foot,  Flagstaff;  and 
on  the  west  the  peaks  of  Bill  Williams,  Sit- 
greaves  and  Kendricks,  neighborly  near. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  the  grandeur  of  such  a  scene, 
San  Francisco  Mountain  itself  soon  gains  and 
monopolizes  the  attention.  It  has  slopes  that 
bend  in  a  single  sweeping  curve  to  depths 
which  the  brain  reels  to  contemplate,  down 
which  a  loosened  stone  will  spin  until  the  eye 
can  no  longer  distinguish  its  course  ;  and  there 
are  huge  folds  and  precipices  and  abysses  of 
which  no  hint  was  given  in  the  ascent.  Per- 
haps its  most  attractive  single  feature  is  a 


profound  bowl-shaped  cavity  between  Hum- 
phrey's and  Agassiz  peaks,  overhung  by 
strangely  sculptured  cliffs  that  have  the  appear- 
ance of  ruined  castle  walls  perforated  with  rude 
doorways,  windows  and  loopholes.  It  is  called 
The  Crater,  and  is  almost  completely  boxed  in 
by  steep  but  uniform  slopes  of  volcanic  dust, 
in  descending  which  a  horse  sinks  to  his  fet- 
locks. On  one  side  it  breaks  do\vn  into  a  canon 
leading  off  to  the  plain  and  set  with  tree,  grass, 
fern  and  flower.  Its  axis  is  marked  by  two 
parallel  lines  of  bare  bowlders  of  great  size, 
that  might  have  been  thrown  up  from  the 
underlying  rock  by  some  prodigious  ebullition 
of  internal  forces. 

The  round  trip  to  the  peak  is  customarily 
made  in  a  day,  but  arrangements  may  be  made 
to  remain  upon  the  mountain  over'  night  if  de- 
termined upon  in  advance,  and  such  a  plan  is 
recommended  to  those  who  are  reasonably 
hardy  and  have  never  seen  the  glories  of  sunset 
and  sunrise  from  a  mountain-height.  Among 
the  great  mountains  of  America  whose  ascent  is 
made  without  the  aid  of  the  railway  engineer, 
there  is  hardly  another  that  at  the  cost  of  so 
little  hardship  yields  so  rich  a  reward. 

THE  GRAND  CANON  OF  THE  COLORADO. 

The  series  of  tremendous  chasms  which  form 
the  channel  of  the  Colorado  River  in  its  course 
through  northern  Arizona  reach  their  culmina- 
tion in  a  chaotic  gorge  217  miles  long,  from  9 
to  13  miles  wide,  and,  midway,  more  than  6,600 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  plateau.  Standing 
upon  the  brink  of  that  plateau,  at  the  point  of 
52 


the  canon's  greatest  width  and  depth,  the  be- 
holder is  confronted  by  a  scene  whose  majesty 
and  beauty  are  well-nigh  unbearable.  Snatched 
in  a  single  glance  from  every  accustomed  an- 
chorage of  human  experience,  the  stoutest 
heart  here  quavers,  the  senses  cower.  It  is  one 
of  the  few  widely  advertised  spots  which  one 
need  not  fear  approaching  with  anticipations 
too  exalted.  It  is  a  new  world,  compelling 
the  tribute  of  sensations  whose  intensity  ex- 
ceeds the  familiar  signification  of  words.  '  It 
never  has  been  adequately  described,  and  never 
will  be.  If  you  say  of  Niagara's  gorge  that  it  is 
profound,  what  shall  you  say  of  the  Colorado's 
chasm  that  yawns  beneath  your  feet  to  a  depth 
nearly  fifty  times  greater  ?  If  you  have  looked 
down  from  the  height  of  the  Eiffel  tower  and 
called  it  vertiginous,  what  shall  you  say  when 
you  are  brought  to  the  verge  of  a  gulf  at  points 
of  which  you  may  drop  a  plummet  five  times 
as  far?  And  when  you  face,  not  a  mere  nar- 
row frowning  gash  of  incredible  depth,  but  a 
broad  underworld  that  reaches  to  the  utter- 
most horizon  and  seems  as  vast  as  the  earth 
itself ;  studded  with  innumerable  pyramidal 
mountains  of  massive  bulk  hewn  from  gaudiest 
rock-strata,  that  barely  lift  the  cones  and  turrets 
of  their  crests  to  the  level  of  the  eye  ;  divided 
by  purple  voids  ;  banded  in  vivid  colors  of 
transparent  brilliancy  that  are  harmonized  by 
atmosphere  and  refraction  to  a  marvelous 
delicacy;  controlled  by  a  unity  of  idea  that 
redeems  the  whole  from  the  menace  of  over- 
whelming chaos — then,  surely, you  maybe  par- 
54 


doned  if  your  pen  halts  in  its  description. 
Some  attempt,  however,  has  been  made  in 
"  The  Grand  Canon  of  Arizona"  to  which  the 
reader  may  conveniently  refer.  Major  Powell 
and  Captain  Button  have  written  magnificent 
volumes  on  this  theme,  and  there  are  graceful 
pages  devoted  to  the  subject  in  Warner's  "  Our 
Italy."  But  the  best  popular  description  in 
print  is  the  account  by  Mr.  John  L.  Stoddard, 
written  since  his  retirement  from  the  platform 
and  published  in  the  admirable  volumes  .which 
present,  in  permanent  form,  the  travel-pictures 
of  the  most  successful  lecturer  of  our  time. 

It  is  seventy  miles  distant  from  Flagstaff  by 
a  nearly  level  road.  Except  in  the  winter, 
when  the  journey  can  be  undertaken  only  when 
weather  is  favorable,  a  tri-weekly  stage  makes 
the  trip  in  eleven  hours,  including  stop  for 
dinner  midway.  Passengers  quit  the  stage  at 
the  rim  of  the  canon,  and  so  long  as  they  may 
choose  to  remain  are  provided  with  comfortable 
lodgings  and  excellent  meals. 

CLIFF  AND  CAVE  DWELLINGS, 

This  region  abounds  in  ruins  of  the  dwellings 
of  a  prehistoric  people.  The  most  important 
lie  within  a  radius  of  eight  miles  from  Flag- 
staff. On  the  southeast,  Walnut  Canon  breaks 
the  plateau  for  a  distance  of  several  miles, 
its  walls  deeply  eroded  in  horizontal  lines. 
In  these  recesses,  floored  and  roofed  by  the 
more  enduring  strata,  the  cliff -dwellings  are 
found  in  great  number,  walled  up  on  the 
front  and  sides  with  rock  fragments  and  ce- 
55 


\ 


ment,  and  partitioned  into  compartments. 
Some  have  fallen  into  decay,  only  portions  of 
their  walls  remaining,  and  but  a  narrow  shelf 
of  the  once  broad  floor  of  solid  rock  left  to  evi- 
dence their  extreme  antiquity.  Others  are 
almost  wholly  intact,  having  stubbornly  re- 
sisted the  weathering  of  time.  Nothing  but 
fragments  of  pottery  now  remain  of  the  many 
quaint  implements  and  trinkets  that  character- 
ized these  dwellings  at  the  time  of  their 
discovery  and  have  since  been  exhumed  by 
scientist  and  collector.  At  least,  nothing  of 
value  is  supposed  to  remain  about  those  that 
are  commonly  visited.  Many  others,  more 
difficult  to  explore,  may  yet  yield  a  store  of 
archaeological  treasure. 

Fixed  like  swallows'  nests  upon  the  face 
of  a  precipice,  approachable  from  above  or 
below  only  by  deliberate  and  cautious  climbing, 
these  dwellings  have  the  appearance  of  forti- 
fied retreats  rather  than  habitual  abodes.  That 
there  was  a  time,  in  the  remote  past,  when 
warlike  peoples  of  mysterious  origin  passed 
southward  over  this  plateau  is  generally  cred- 
ited. And  the  existence  of  the  cliff-dwellings 
is  ascribed  to  the  exigencies  of  that  dark 
period,  when  the  inhabitants  of  the  plateau, 
unable  to  cope  with  the  superior  energy,  in- 
telligence and  numbers  of  the  descending 
hordes,  devised  these  unassailable  retreats. 
All  their  quaintness  and  antiquity  can  not  con- 
ceal the  deep  pathos  of  their  being,  for  tragedy 
is  written  all  over  these  poor  hovels  hung 
between  earth  and  sky.  Their  builders  hold 
no  smallest  niche  in  recorded  history.  Their 
56 


aspirations,  their  struggles  and  their  fate  are 
all  unwritten,  save  on  these  crumbling  stones, 
which  are  their  sole  monument  and  meager 
epitaph.  Here  once  they  dwelt.  They  left  no 
other  print  on  time. 

At  an  equal  distance  to  the  north  of  Flag- 
staff, among  the  cinder-buried  cones,  is  one 
whose  summit  commands  a  wide-sweeping  view 
of  the  plain.  Upon  its  apex,  in  the  innumera- 
ble spout-holes  that  were  the  outlet  of  ancient 
eruptions,  are  the  cave-dwellings,  around  many 
of  which  rude  stone-walls  still  stand.  The  story 
of  these  habitations  is  likewise  wholly  conjec- 
tural. They  may  have  been  contemporary  with 
the  cliff-dwellings.  That  they  were  long  inhab- 
ited is  clearly  apparent.  Fragments  of  shat- 
tered pottery  lie  on  every  hand. 

CENTRAL   AND    SOUTHERN   ARIZONA. 

From  Ash  Fork,  west  of  Flagstaff,  the  Santa 
Fe,  Prescott&  Phoenix  Railroad  extends  south- 
ward through  Prescott  to  Phoenix.  In  a  dis- 
tance of  less  than  200  miles  the  traveler  is 
afforded  glimpses  of  nearly  every  variety  of 
57 


scenery  typical  of  the  territory.  There  are 
bleak,  barren  mountains,  and  mountains  cov- 
ered with  forests  of  pine,  on  whose  slopes  are 
seen  the  dumps  of  world-famous  mines.  There 
are  rocky  desert  wastes  where  only  uncouth 
cacti  find  footing  to  give  some  poor  semblance 
of  life  and  hope,  and  vast  arid  stretches  which 
in  early  spring  are  overspread  with  flowers, 
among  which  the  poppy  predominates  and  by 
virtue  of  its  superior  size  and  brilliancy  carpets 
the  ground  with  an  almost  unbroken  sheet  of 
tawny  flame,  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  on  either 
hand.  There  are  waterless  canons,  and  canons 
walling  turbid  streams,  unreclaimed  vales  dot- 
ted with  cattle,  and  broad  irrigated  valley-plains 
level  as  a  floor,  where  is  cultivated  in  extraor- 
dinary profusion  nearly  every  variety  of  fruit, 
nut  and  vegetable  not  absolutely  restricted  to 
the  tropics,  in  addition  to  an  enormous  acreage 
of  alfalfa  and  the  ordinary  cereals  of  the  north 
temperate  zone. 

Both  north  and  south  of  Prescott  some  pretty 
engineering  problems  have  been  solved,  with  a 
58 


picturesque  result  of  rock-cuts,  trestles,  detours, 
and  loops  where  distance  is  artificially  created 
in  order  that  grade  may  be  overcome.  At 
many  points  one  marvels  at  the  audacious  imag- 
ination of  the  man  who  conceived  it  possible  to 
construct  a  path  for  the  locomotive  through  a 
region  so  desperately  hostile.  Here  in  a  gorge 
uptilted  lofty  rock-pillars  and  tremendous 
bowlders  lying  shoulder  to  shoulder  contest  the 
passage;  yonder,  on  a  slope,  you  may  see  far 
below  a  second  parallel  track,  and  below  that 
a  third  forming  a  sweeping  loop  by  which  the 
safe  descent  of  the  train  is  accomplished  and 
the  ascent  of  the  opposite  train  made  possible. 
The  developed  agricultural  and  horticultural 
areas  are  in  the  neighborhood  of  Phoenix.  The 
climate  is  especially  friendly  to  invalids,  even 
during  the  hot  summer 
months,  but  as  in  the 
60 


case  of  other  southwestern  health  and  pleas- 
ure resorts,  winter  brings  the  influx  of  visitors. 
The  beneficent  effect  of  this  climate  upon  the 
sick,  or  upon  those  who  merely  seek  an  enjoy- 
able retreat  from  the  harsh  winter  of  the  North 
and  East,  is  not  easily  exaggerated.  The  hotel 
accommodations  have  been  greatly  enlarged 
and  improved  in  recent  years,  the  early  winter 
of  1896  in  particular  having  been  marked  by 
the  opening  of  the  Adams  House,  a  caravan- 
sary of  which  older  and  more  populous  com- 
munities might  well  be  proud.  It  was  promptly 
filled  to  overflowing,  and  the  erection  of  other 
modern  hotels  will  speedily  follow,  for  Phoenix 
is  rapidly  becoming  one  of  the  greatest  of  win- 
ter resorts  in  the  southwest.  The  valley,  of 
which  it  is  the  center,  is  one  of  marvelous 
loveliness,  which  only  the  painter's  art  can 
convey  to  one  who  has  not  beheld  it.  Of  the 
valleys  of  the  West  there  are  four  pre-eminent 
in  beauty  —  the  San  Gabriel  and  Santa  Clara 
in  California,  the  valley  of  Salt  Lake  in  Utah, 
and  this  of  the  Salt  River.  Across  the  restful 
and  infinitely  modulated  green  of  orchard  and 
shade  trees,  of  alfalfa  and  barley  fields,  the 
eye  is  led  to  a  distant  horizon  of  rugged  moun- 
tains, where  shifting  light  and  shadow  make 
an  endless  play  of  color,  astonishingly  vivid  to 
a  traveler  new  to  desert  landscapes  and  un- 
ceasingly attractive  day  after  day. 

The  greatest  mineral  development  is  in  the 
vicinity  of  Prescott.  Here,  among  other  fa- 
mous deposits,  are  the  United  Verde  copper 
mines  and  the  Congress  and  Rich  Hill  gold 
mines,  the  last  named  situated  upon  an  isolated 
61 


peak,  where  in  the  early  days  gold  was  literally 
whittled  from  the  rock  with  knives  and  chisels. 
The  tourist  will  do  well  to  include  in  his  itin- 
erary a  visit  of  inspection  to  some  one  of  these 
numerous  repositories  of  treasure. 


IV. 
SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

FEW  miles  beyond  the  Colorado  River 
crossing  at  The  Needles  is  the  rail- 
road station  of  that  name,  where 
the  remnant  of  the  once  powerful 
and  warlike  Mojave  tribe,  now  become  beg- 
garly hangers-on  to  civilization,  love  to  congre- 
gate and  offer  inferior  wares  in  the  shape  of 
bows  and  arrows  and  pottery  trinkets  to  trav- 
elers in  exchange  for  coin.  Their  hovels  are 
scattered  along  the  wayside,  and  the  eager  con- 
gregation of  women  peddlers,  some  with  naked 
babies  sitting  stoically  astride  their  hips,  and 
all  dubiously  picturesque  in  paint  and  rags,  is 
sufficiently  diverting.  The  men  attain  gigantic 
stature,  and  are  famed  for  their  speed  and  bot- 
tom as  runners;  but  their  ability  might  be  fairly 
taxed  by  the  tourist  of  average  capacity  who 
for  any  cause  felt  himself  in  danger  of  being 
62 


compelled  to  share  their  abode  or  mingle  inti- 
mately with  them.  A  sound-heeled  Achilles 
would  fall  behind  in  pursuit  of  the  fleer  from 
such  a  sorry  fate. 

But  this  is  California,  the  much-lauded  land 
of  fruit  and  flower  and  sunny  clime,  of  moun- 
tain and  shore  and  sea-girt  isle ;  land  of  para- 
doxes, where  winter  is  the  season  of  bloom  and 
fruitage  and  summer  is  nature's  time  of  slum- 
ber. The  traveler  enters  it  for  the  first  time 
with  a  vivid  preconception  of  its  splendors. 

By  way  of  introduction  you  are  borne  across 
the  most  sterile  portion  of  the  most  hopeless 
waste  in  America,  whose  monotony  intercepts 
every  approach  to  California  except  that  round- 
about one  by  way  of  the  sea.  On  either 
hand  lies  a  drear  stretch  of  sand  and  alkali, 
relieved  only  by  black  patches  of  lava  and  a 
mountainous  horizon  —  a  Nubian  desert  un- 
marked by  a  single  human  habitation  outside 
the  lonely  path  of  the  locomotive;  where  not 
even  the  cry  of  a  wolf  breaks  the  grim  silence 
of  desolation.  Through  this  the  train  hastens 
to  a  more  elevated  country,  arid  still,  but  re- 
lieved by  rugged  rocks,  the  esthetic  gnarled 
trunks  and  bolls  of  the  yucca  and  occasional 
growths  of  deciduous  trees.  You  enter  the 
Cajon  Pass. 

Did  not  the  journey  include  a  return  through 
Colorado,  which  is  distinctive  in  mountain 
scenery,  Cajon  Pass  would  bear  extended  men- 
tion. It  is  the  loveliest  imaginable  scene,  a 
gently  billowing  mountain  flank  densely  set 
with  thickets  of  manzanita,  gleaming  through 
whose  glossy  foliage  and  red  stems  the  pale  earth 
63 


rises  here  and  there  in  graceful  dunes  of  white 
un flecked  by  grass  or  shrub,  overhung  by 
parallel-terraced  ridges  of  the  San  Bernardino 
Mountains,  that  pale  in  turn  to  a  topmost 
height  far  in  the  blue  Italian  sky.  Entirely 
wanting  in  the  austerity  that  characterizes  the 
grander  mountains  of  loftier  altitudes,  it  takes 
you  from  the  keeping  of  plateau  and  desert, 
and  by  seductive  windings  leads  you  down  to 
the  garden  of  California.  Typical  scenes  at 
once  appear.  On  either  hand  are  seen  or- 
chards of  the  peach,  apricot,  prune,  olive,  fig 
almond,  walnut,  and  that  always  eagerly  antici- 
pated one  of  the  orange. 

You  will  not,  however,  find  this  whole  land  a 
jungle  of  orange  and  palm  trees,  parted  only 
by  thick  banks  of  flowers.  The  world  is  wide, 
even  in  California,  or,  one  might  better  say, 
particularly  in  California,  where  over  an  area 
averaging  150  miles  wide  and  1,000  miles 
long  is  scattered  a  population  no  greater 
than  that  of  the  city  of  Chicago.  It  is  true 
that  at  many  places  along  your  route  you  may 
almost  pluck  oranges  by  reaching  from  the 
car  window  in  passing;  but  the  celebrated 
products  of  California  lie  in  restricted  areas  of 
cultivation,  which  you  are  expected  to  visit; 
and  herein  lies  much  of  the  Calif ornian's  pride, 
that  there  still  remains  so  much  of  opportunity 
for  all.  There  is  everything  in  California  that 
has  been  credited  to  it,  but  what  proves  not  un- 
commonly a  surprise  is  the  relatively  small  area 
of  improved  land  and  the  consequent  fre- 
quency of  unfructed  intervals.  Only  a  mo- 
ment's reflection  is  needed  to  perceive  that  the 
64 


case  could  not  be  otherwise.  As  for  flowers, 
even  here  they  are  not  eternal,  except  in  the 
thousands  of  watered  gardens.  In  the  dry 
summer  season  the  hills  turn  brown  and  sleep. 
Only  when  the  winter  rains  have  slaked  the 
parched  earth  do  the  grass  and  flowers  awake, 
and  then  for  a  few  months  there  is  enough  of 
bloom  and  fragrance  to  satisfy  the  most  exu- 
berant fancy. 

Now  past  pretty  horticultural  communities, 
flanked  by  the  Sierra  Madre,  the  way  leads 
quickly  from  San  Bernardino  to  Pasadena  and 
Los  Angeles. 

Southward  from  the  last-named  city  you  pass 
through  a  fruitful  region,  and  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  impressive  mission-ruins  of  Capis- 
trano,  to  a  shore  where  the  long  waves  of  the 
Pacific  break  upon  gleaming  white  sands  and 
the  air  is  of  the  sea.  Blue  as  the  sky  is  the 
Pacific,  paling  in  the  shallows  toward  land,  and 
flecked  with  bright  or  somber  cloud  reflections 
and  smurring  ripples  of  the  breeze.  It  is  not 
only  the  westerly  bound  of  the  North  American 
Continent,  it  is  the  South  Seas  of  old  adventure, 
where  many  a  hulk  of  once  treasure-laden  gal- 
leons lies  fathoms  deep  among  the  queer  deni- 
zens of  the  sea  who  repeat  wild  legends  of 
naughty  buccaneers.  There  is  challenge  to  the 
imagination  in  the  very  tracklessness  of  the  sea. 
On  the  wrinkled  face  of  earth  you  may  read 
earth's  story.  She  has  laid  things  to  heart.  She 
broods,  on  memories.  But  the  sea  denies  the 
past;  it  is  as  heedless  of  events  that  were  as  the 
air  is  of  the  path  where  yesterday  a  butterfly 
was  winging.  Its  incontinent  expanse  is  allur- 
66 


ing  to  the  fancy,  and  this  sunset  sea  even  more 
than  the  tempestuous  ocean  that  beats  upon  our 
eastern  shores,  for  it  is  so  lately  become  our 
possession  it  seems  still  a  foreign  thing,  strewn 
with  almost  as  many  wrecks  of  Spanish  hopes 
as  of  galleons;  and  into  its  broad  bosom  the  sun 
sinks  to  rise  upon  quaint  antipodean  peoples, 
beyond  a  thousand  mysterious  inhabited  islands 
in  the  swirls  of  the  equatorial  currents. 

Next,  swinging  inland  to  find  the  pass  of  the 
last  intervening  hills,  you  make  a  final  descent 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  come  to  San  Diego, 
that  dreamy  city  of  Mediterranean  atmosphere 
and  color,  terraced  along  the  rim  of  a  sheltered 
bay  of  surpassing  beauty.  Guarding  the  mouth 
of  the  harbor  lies  the  long  crescent  peninsular 
of  Coronado,  the  pale  fagades  of  whose  mam- 
moth hotel  flash  through  tropical  vegetation 
across  the  blue  intervening  waters. 

OF  CLIMATE. 

Here  the  sun  habitually  shines.  Near  the 
coast  flows  the  broad  equable  Japanese  ocean- 
current,  from  which  a  tempered  breeze  sweeps 
overland  every  morning,  every  night  to  return 
from  the  cool  mountain-tops.  Between  the  first 
of  May  and  the  last  of  October  rain  almost  never 
falls.  By  the  end  of  June  the  earth  has  evap- 
orated most  of  its  surface  moisture,  and  vegeta- 
tion unsustained  by  artificial  watering  begins 
to  languish.  The  midday  temperature  now 
rises,  but  the  same  breeze  swings  like  a  pendu- 
lum between  ocean  and  mountain,  and  night 
and  early  morning  are  no  less  invigorating. 
This  is  summer,  a  joyous  and  active  season 
67 


generally  misconceived  by  the  tourist,  who  not 
unreasonably  visits  California  in  the  winter- 
time to  escape  Northern  cold  and  snow,  and  in- 
fers an  unendurable  torrid  summer  from  a 
winter  of  mildness  and  luxuriance. 

With  November  the  first  showers  generally 
begin,  followed  by  an  occasional  heavy  down- 
pour, and  Northern  pastures  now  whiten  under 
falling  snow  hardly  faster  than  do  these  sere 
hills  turn  beryl-green.  The  rainy  season  is  so 
called  not  because  it  is  characterized  by  contin- 
uous rainfall,  but  to  distinguish  it  from  that 
portion  of  the  year  in  which  rain  can  not  be 
looked  for.  Bright  days  are  still  the  rule,«and 
showery  days  are  marked  by  transcendent 
beauties  of  earth  and  sky,  fleeting  wonders  of 
form  and  color.  Let  the  morning  open  with  a 
murky  zenith,  dark  tumbled  cloud-masses 
dropping  shower.  As  the  invisible  sun  mounts, 
he  peeps  unexpectedly  through  a  rift  to  see 
that  his  world  is  safe,  then  vanishes.  The  sky 
has  an  unrelenting  look.  The  mountains  are 
obscured.  Suddenly,  far  to  the  left,  a  rift 
breaks  dazzling  white,  just  short  of  where  the 
rain  is  falling  on  the  hills  in  a  long  bending 
column,  and  at  one  side  a  broad  patch  pales 
into  mottled  gray;  and  below  the  rift  a  light 
mist  is  seen  floating  on  the  flank  of  a 
mountain  that  shoots  into  sharp  relief 
against  a  vapor-wall  of  slate.  At  the 
mountain's  foot  a  whole  hillside  shows  in  warm 
brown  tint,  its  right  edge  merged  in  a  low  flat 
cloud  of  silver,  born,  you  could  aver,  on  the 
instant,  from  which  the  truncated  base  of  a 
second  mountain  depends,  blue  as  indigo.  The 
68 


face  of  earth,  washed  newly,  is  a  patchwork  of 
somber  and  gaudy  transparent  colors — yellows, 
greens,  sepias,  grays.  One's  range  and  clearness 
of  vision  are  quickly  expanded,  as  when  a  tele- 
scope is  fitted  to  the  eye.  Now  begins  a  wonder- 
ful shifting  of  light  and  shadow,  peeps  through  a 
curtain  that  veils  unbearable  splendors  of  upper 
sky;  gradual  dissolutions  of  cloud  into  curls  and 
twists  and  splashes,  with  filling  of  blue  between. 
Again  the  sun  appears,  at  first  with  a  pale  bur- 
nished light,  flashing  and  fading  irresolutely 
until  at  length  it  flames  out  with  summer  ardor. 
The  clouds  break  into  still  more  curious  forms, 
into  pictures  and  images  of  quaint  device,  and 
outside  a  wide  circle  of  brilliant  sunlight  all 
the  hills  are  in  purple  shadow,  fading  into 
steel-blue,  and  about  their  crests  cling  wisps  of 
many-colored  fleece.  Here  and  there  a  distant 
peak  is  blackly  hooded,  or  gleams  subtly  be- 
hind an  intervening  shower— a  thin  transparent 
wash  of  smoky  hue.  The  veil  quickly  dissi- 
pates, and  at  the  same  instant  the  peak  is 
robbed  of  its  sunlight  by  billows  of  vapor  that 
marshal  in  appalling  magnificence.  Then  the 
rain-mist  advances  and  hides  the  whole  from 
view.  A  strip  of  green  next  flashes  on  the 
sight,  a  distant  field  lighted  by  the  sun,  but 
lying  unaccountably  beneath  a  cloud  of  black. 
Beyond,  the  broad  foot  of  a  rainbow  winks  and 
disappears.  Among  all  the  hilltops  rain  next 
begins  to  fall  like  amber  smoke,  so  thin  is  the 
veil  that  shields  them  from  the  sun.  Then  the 
sun  abruptly  ceases  to  shine,  the  whole  heavens 
are  overcast,  and  between  the  fine  fast-falling 
drops  the  ground  gleams  wet  in  cool  gray  light. 
69 


By  noon  the  sun  again  is  shining  clear,  although 
in  occasional  canons  there  is  night  and  deluge, 
and  at  the  close  of  a  bright  afternoon  the  far- 
thest, loftiest  peak  has  a  white  cloud  wreath 
around  it,  as  symmetrical  as  a  smoke-ring 
breathed  from  the  lips  of  a  senorita;  and  out  of 
the  middle  of  it  rises  the  fragment  of  a  rainbow 
— a  cockade  on  a  mist-laureled  Matterhorn. 
Then  the  sun  drops,  and  the  day  is  done. 


That  is  the  way  it  rains  in  California,  and  be- 
tween such  days  are  unclouded  intervals  of 
considerable  duration.  They  call  this  season 
winter.  The  temperature  is  so  finely  balanced 
one  does  not  easily  decide  whether  to  walk 
70 


upon  the  sunny  or  the  shady  side  of  the  street. 
It  is  cool,  not  cold,  not  bracing  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  but  just  the  proper  temperature  for  con- 
tinuous out-of-door  life.  June  does  not  define 
it,  nor  September.  It  has  no  synonym.  .  But 
if  you  cared  to  add  one  more  to  the  many  un- 
successful attempts  to  define  it  in  a  phrase,  you 
might  term  it  constant  delicious  weather;  to- 
day, to-morrow,  and  indefinitely  in  the  future, 
morally  certain  to  be  very  much  as  you  would 
have  it  if  you  were  to  create  an  air  and  a  sky 
exactly  to  suit  his  or  her  majesty  yourself.  But 
even  here  man  is  a  clothes-wearing  animal. 
There  is  a  coolness  pervading  the  most  brilliant 
sunshine.  Remembering  this,  the  most  appre- 
hensive person  will  soon  discover  that  there  is 
no  menace  in  the  dry,  pure  and  gently  invigor- 
ating air  of  the  Southern  California  winter.  It 
wins  the  invalid  to  health  by  enticing  him  to 
remain  out-of-doors. 

Ranging  from  warm  sea-level  to  peaks  of 
frigid  inclemency,  this  varied  state  offers  many 
climatic  gradations,  whose  contrasts  are  nearly 
always  in  view.  In  winter  you  may  sit  upon 
almost  any  veranda  in  Southern  California  and 
lift  your  eyes  from  the  brilliant  green  of  orna- 
mental trees  and  shrubs,  from  orchards  where 
fruits  ripen  in  heavy  clusters,  and  from  the 
variegated  bloom  of  gardens,  to  ragged  horizon- 
lines  buried  deep  in  snow.  There  above  is  a 
frozen  waste  and  Alpine  terror.  Here  below  is 
summer,  shorn  of  summer  languor.  And  be- 
tween may  be  found  any  modification  that 
could  reasonably  be  sought,  each  steadfast  in 
its  own  characteristics. 
71 


The  smallest  of  these  communities  is  great 
in  content.  Literally  couched  beneath  his  own 
vine  and  fig-tree,  plucking  from  friendly 
boughs  delicious  fruits,  finding  in  the  multi- 
farious products  of  the  soil  nearly  everything 
needful  in  domestic  economy,  and  free  from 
most  of  the  ills  that  flesh  was  thought  to  be 
heir  to,  what  wonder  that  the  Californian  en- 
vies no  man,  nor  ever  looks  wistfully  over  the 
sierra's  crest  toward  the  crowded  cities  and 
precarious  farming  regions  of  the  East?  An 
uplifting  environment  for  a  home,  truly,  fit  to 
breed  a  race  worthy  of  the  noblest  empire 
among  the  States.  There  is  work  to  be  done, 
in  the  house  and  the  field,  but  in  such  an  air 
and  scene  it  is  as  near  a  transfiguration  of  labor 
as  can  well  be  imagined.  Here  it  is  indeed  a 
poor  boy  or  girl  who  has  not  a  pony  on  which 
to  scamper  about,  or  lacks  liberty  for  such  en- 
joyment. And  every  year  there  comes  a  period 
of  holiday,  an  interval  when  there  is  no  plant- 
ing or  harvesting  to  be  done,  no  picking  or 
drying  or  packing  of  fruit,  a  recuperating  spell 
of  nature,  when  the  weather  is  just  as  glorious 
as  ever,  and  the  mountains  and  ocean  beckon 
seductively  to  the  poet  that  is  in  the  heart  of 
every  unharassed  man  and  woman  and  child. 
Then  for  weeks  the  canons  are  dotted  with 
tents,  where  the  mountain-torrent  foams  and 
spreading  sycamores  are  festooned  with  mis- 
tletoe; and  the  trout  of  the  stream  and  the 
game  of  the  forest  have  their  solstice  of  woe. 
Or,  on  the  rim  of  the  sea,  thousands  of  merry 
hearts,  both  young  and  old,  congregate  and 
hold  high  carnival.  When  the  campers  return 
73 


to  shop  and  field  it  is  not  by  reason  of  any  in- 
clemency of  weather,  but  because  their  term  of 
holiday  has  expired.  Then  come  the  tourists, 
and  pale  fugitives  from  the  buffets  of  Boreas, 
to  wander  happily  over  hillside  and  shore  in  a 
land  unvexed  by  the  tyranny  of  the  seasons. 

The  most  seductive  of  lands,  and  the  most 
tenacious  in  its  hold  upon  you.  You  have  done 
but  little,  and  a  day  has  fled;  have  idled, 
walked,  ridden,  sailed  a  little,  have  seen  two 
or  three  of  the  thousand  things  to  be  seen,  and 
a  week,  a  month,  is  gone.  You  could  grieve 
that  such  golden  burdenless  hours  should  ever 
go  into  the  past,  did  they  not  flow  from  an  in- 
exhaustible fount.  For  to  be  out  all  day  in  the 
careless  freedom  of  perfect  weather;  to  ramble 
over  ruins  of  a  former  occupation;  to  wander 
through  gardens  and  orchards;  to  fish,  to  shoot, 
to  gather  flowers  from  the  blossoming  hill- 
slopes;  to  explore  a  hundred  fascinating  re- 
treats of  mountain  and  shore;  to  lounge  on  the 
sands  by  the  surf  until  the  sun  drops  into  the 
sea;  all  this  is  permitted  by  the  Southern  Cali- 
fornia winter. 

SAN   DIEGO   AND  VICINITY. 

Fringing  a  bay  that  for  a  dozen  miles  glows 
like  a  golden  mirror  below  its  purple  rirn,  San 
Diego  stands  upon  a  slope  that  rises  from  the 
water  to  the  summit  of  a  broad  mesa.  In  front 
the  bold  promontory  of  Point  Loma  juts  into 
the  sea,  overlapping  the  low,  slender  peninsu- 
lar of  Coronado,  and  between  them  lies  the 
narrow  entrance  to  this  most  beautiful  of  har- 
borSo  One  may  be  happy  in  San  Diego  and  do 
74 


nothing.  Its  soft, 
sensuous  beauty 
and  caressing  air 
create  in  the  breast 
a  new  sense  of  the 
joy  of  mere  exist- 
ence. But  there  is, 
besides,  abundant  material  for  the  sight-seer. 
Here,  with  many,  begins  the  first  leisurely  and 
intimate  acquaintance  with  those  objects  of  un- 
failing interest,  the  growing  orange  and  lemon. 
Orchards  are  on  every  hand;  not  in  the  profu- 
sion that  characterizes  some  of  the  more  exten- 
sively developed  localities,  but  still  abundant, 
and  inferior  to  none  in  fruitage.  Paradise  Val- 
ley, the  Valley  of  the  Sweetwater,  where  may 
be  seen  the  great  irrigating  fount  of  so  many 
farms,  and  Mission  Valley, where  the  San  Diego 
River  flows  and  the  dismantled  ruin  of  the  old- 
est California  mission,  elbowed  by  a  modern 
Indian  school,  watches  over  its  ancient  but  still 
vigorous  trees,  afford  the  most  impressive  exam- 
ples of  these  growing  fruits  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood.  El  Cajon  Valley  is  celebrated 
for  its  vineyards.  At  National  City,  four  miles 
away,  are  extensive  olive  orchards.  Fifteen 
miles  to  the  south  the  Mexican  village  of  Tia 
Juana  attracts  many  visitors,  whose  average 
experience  consists  of  a  pleasant  railroad  ride 
to  the  border  and  a  half-hour's  residence  in  a 
foreign  country;  but  the  noble  coast  scenery  of 
Point  of  Rocks,  the  boundary  monument,  and 
remarkable  hot  sulphur  springs  are  reached  by 
a  short  and  attractive  drive  from  that  little 
Lower  California  town. 
75 


The  diverse  allurements  of  mountain  and 
valley,  and  northward-stretching  shore  of  alter- 
nating beach  and  high  commanding  bluff,  are 
innumerable,  but  the  catalogue  of  their  names 
does  not  fall  within  the  province  of  these 
pages.  One  marvelous  bit  of  coast,  thirteen 
miles  away  and  easily  reached  by  railway  or 
carriage-drive,  must  however  have  specific 
mention.  It  is  La  Jolla  Park.  Here  a  plateau 
overlooks  the  open  sea  from  a  bluff  that 
tumbles  precipitously  to  a  narrow  strip  of 
sand.  The  face  of  the  cliff  for  a  distance  of 
several  miles  has  been  sculptured  by  the  waves 
into  most  curious  forms.  It  projects  in  rec- 
tangular blocks,  in  stumps,  stools,  benches,  and 
bas-reliefs  that  strikingly  resemble  natural  ob- 
jects, their  surfaces  chiseled  intaglio  with 
almost  intelligible  devices.  Loosened  frag- 
ments have  worn  deep  symmetrical  wells,  or 
pot-holes,  to  which  the  somewhat  inadequate 
Spanish-Indian  name  of  the  place  is  due;  and 
what  seem  at  first  glance  to  be  enormous  bowl- 
ders loosely  piled,  with  spacious  interstices 
through  which  the  foam  spurts  and  crashes,  are 
the  selfsame  solid  cliff,  carved  and  polished, 
but  not  wholly  separated  by  the  sea.  Some  of 
the  cavities  are  mere  pockets  lined  with  mussels 
and  minute  weeds  with  calcareous  leaves. 
Others  are  commodious  secluded  apartments, 
quite  commonly  used  as  dressing-rooms  by 
bathers.  The  real  caverns  can  be  entered  dry- 
shod  only  at  lowest  tide.  The  cliff  where  they 
'lie  is  gnawed  into  columns,  arches  and  aisles, 
through  which  one  cave  after  another  may  be 
seen,  dimly  lighted,  dry  and  practicable.  Sev- 
76 

\r " 

M, 


enty-nve  feet  is  probably  their  utmost  depth. 
They  are  the  culmination  of  this  extraordinary 
work  of  an  insensate  sculptor.  There  are 
alcove-niches,  friezes  of  small  gray  and  black 
mosaic,  horizontal  bands  of  red,  and  high- 
vaulted  roofs.  If  the  native  California  Indians 
had  possessed  a  poetic  temperament  they  must 
certainly  have  performed  religious  rites  in  such 
a  temple.  The  water  is  as  pellucid  as  a  moun- 
tain spring.  The  flush  of  the  waves  foams 
dazzling  white  and  pours  through  the  intrica- 
cies of  countless  channels,  tunnels  and  fissures 
in  overwhelming  torrents,  and  in  the  brief 
intervals  between  ebb  and  rise  the  bottom  of 
rock  and  clean  sand  gleams  invitingly  through 
a  depth  of  many  feet.  Sea-anemones  are 
thickly  clustered  upon  the  lower  levels,  their 
tinted  petal-filaments  scintillating  in  the  shal- 
low element,  or  closed  bud-like  while  waiting  for 
the  flood.  Little  crabs  scamper  in  disorderly  pro- 
cession through  the  crevices  at  your  approach, 
and  that  univalve  with  the  ornamental  shell, 
known  every  where  as  the  abalone,  is  also  abun- 
dant.' Seaweeds,  trailing  in  and  out  with  the 
movement  of  the  tide,  flame  through  the  trans- 
parent water  in  twenty  shades  of  green,  and 
schools  of  goldfish  flash  in  the  swirling  current, 
distorted  by  the  varying  density  of  the  eddies 
into  great  blotches  of  brilliant  color,  unquench- 
able firebrands  darting  hither  and  yon  in  their 
play.  They  are  not  the  true  goldfish  whose 
habitat  is  a  globular  glass  half-filled  with  tepid 
water,  but  their  hue  is  every  whit  as  vivid.  In 
the  time  of  flowers  this  whole  plateau  is  cov- 
ered with  odorous  bloom. 
79 


\ 


Then  there  is  Coronado.  Connected  by  ferry 
and  by  railroad  with  the  mainland,  Coronado 
bears  the  same  relation  to  San  Diego  that  fash- 
ionable suburbs  bear  to  many  Eastern  cities» 
and  at  the  same  time  affords  recreative  pleas- 
ures which  the  inhabitants  of  those  suburbs 
must  go  far  to  seek.  Here  the  business-man 
dwells  in  Elysian  bowers  by  the  sea,  screened 
from  every  reminder  of  business  cares,  yet 
barely  a  mile  distant  from  office  or  shop.  Lock- 
ing up  in  his  desk  at  evening  all  the  prosaic 
details  of  bank  or  factory,  of  railroad  rates,  of 
the  price  of  stocks  and  real  estate  and  wares, 
in  ten  minutes  he  is  at  home  on  what  is  in 
effect  a  South  Sea  island,  where  brant  and  cur- 
lew and  pelican  fly,  and  not  all  the  myriad 
dwellings  and  the  pomp  of  their  one  architec- 
tural splendor  can  disturb  the  air  of  perfect 
restfulness  and  sweet  rusticity.  From  the  low 
ridge  of  the  narrow  peninsular  may  be  seen, 
upon  the  one  hand,  a  wide-sweeping  moun- 
tainous arc,  dipping  to  the  pretty  city  that 
borders  the  bay.  Upon  the  other,  the  unob- 
structed ocean  rolls.  On  the  ocean  side,  just 
beyond  reach  of  the  waves,  stands  the  hotel 
whose  magnificence  has  given  it  leading  rank 
among  the  famous  hostelries  of  the  world.  It  is 
built  around  a  quadrangular  court,  or  patio  —  a 
dense  garden  of  rare  shrubs  and  flowering 
plants  more  than  an  acre  in  extent.  Upon  this 
patio  many  sleeping  rooms  open  byway  of  the 
circumjacent  balcony,  besides  fronting  upon 
ocean  and  bay,  and  a  glass-covered  veranda, 
extending  nearly  the  entire  length  of  the  west- 
ern frontage,  looks  over  the  sea  toward  the 
80 


peaks  of  the  distant  Coronado  islands.  On  the 
north  lies  Point  Loma  and  the  harbor  entrance, 
on  the  east  San  Diego  Bay  and  city,  and  on  the 
south  Glorieta  Bay  and  the  mountains  of  Mex- 
ico, beyond  a  broad  half-circle  of  lawn  dotted 
with  semi-tropical  trees  and  bright  beds  of 
flowers,  and  bordered  by  hedges  of  cypress. 

Here  the  fisherman  has  choice  of  surf  or  bil- 
low or  the  still  surface  of  sheltered  waters;  of 
sailboat,  skiff  or  iron  pier.  The  gunner  finds 
no  lack  of  sea-fowl,  quail  or  rabbits.  The 
bather  may  choose  between  surf  and  huge 
tanks  of  salt-water,  roofed  with  glass,  fringed 
with  flowers  and  fitted  with  devices  to  en- 
hance his  sport.  The  sight-seer  is  provided 
with  a  score  of  special  local  attractions,  and  all 
the  resources  of  the  mainland  are  at  elbow. 
These  diversions  are  the  advantage  of  geo- 
graphical location,  independent  of  the  social 
recreations  one  naturally  finds  in  fashionable 
resorts,  at  hotels  liberally  managed  and  fre- 
quented by  representatives  of  the  leisure  class. 

The  climate  of  the  coast  is  necessarily  dis- 
tinguished from  that  of  the  interior  by  greater 
humidity,  and  the  percentage  of  invisible 
moisture  in  the  air,  however  small,  must  infal- 
libly be  greater  at  Coronado  than  upon  the 
Heights  of  San  Diego,  and  greater  in  San 
Diego  than  at  points  farther  removed  from  the 
sea.  This  is  the  clue  to  the  only  flaw  in  the 
otherwise  perfect  coast  climate,  and  it  is  a  flaw 
only  to  supersensitive  persons,  invalids  of  a 
certain  class.  The  consumptive  too  often 
delays  taking  advantage  of  the  benefits  of 
climatic  change  until  he  has  reached  a  point 
81 


when  nicest  discrimination  has  become  neces- 
sary. The  purest,  driest  and  most  rarefied  air 
compatible  with  the  complications  of  disease  is 
his  remedy,  if  remedy  exist  for  him.  And  the 
driest  and  most  rarefied  air  is  not  to  be  looked 
for  by  the  sea.  Yet  the  difference  is  not  great 
enough  to  be  brusquely  prohibitory.  No  one 
need  fear  to  go  to  the  coast,  and  a  short  stay 
will  determine  whether  or  no  the  relief  that  is 
sought  can  there  be  found;  while  for  many 
derangements  it  is  preferable  to  the  interior. 
For  him  who  is  not  in  precarious  condition  the 
foregoing  observations  have  no  significance. 
He  will  find  the  climate  of  all  Southern  Cali- 
fornia a  mere  gradation  of  glory.  But  per- 
haps around  San  Diego,  and  at  one  or  two 
other  coast  points,  there  will  seem  to  be  a 
spirit  even  gentler  than  that  which  rules  the 
hills. 

CAPISTRANO. 

A  tiny  quaint  village  in  a  fertile  valley  that 

slopes  from  a 
mountain  wall 
to  the  sea,  un- 
/  kempt  and  mon- 
grel, a  jumble 
of  adobe  ruins, 
white-w  ashed 
hovels  and  low 
semi  -modern 


structure?,  straggjing  like  a  moraine  from  the 
massive  ruin  of  the  Mission  San  Juan  Capis- 
trano.  The  mission  dominates  the  valley.  Go 
where  you  will,  the  eye  turns  to  this  colossal 
fragment,  a  forlorn  but  vital  thing;  broken, 
crushed,  and  yet  undying.  Swarthy  faces  are 
mingled  with  the  pale  Saxon  type,  the  music  of 
the  Spanish  tongue  is  heard  wherever  you  hear 
human  speech,  and  from  behind  the  lattices  of 
the  adobes  come  the  tinkle  of  guitars  and  the 
cadence  of  soft  voices  in  plaintive  rhythm.  The 
sun  makes  black  shadows  by  every  house  and 
tree,  and  sweeps  in  broad  unbroken  light  over 
the  undulating  hills  to  hazy  mountain-tops; 
ground  squirrels  scamper  across  the  way,  wild 
doves  start  up  with  whistling  wings,  and  there 
is  song  of  birds  and  cry  of  barnyard  fowls. 
The  essence  of  the  scene  is  passing  quiet  and 
peace.  The  petty  noises  of  the  village  are 
powerless  to  break  the  silence  that  enwraps  the 
noble  ruin;  its  dignity  is  as  imperturbable  as 
that  of  mountain  and  sea.  Never  was  style  of 
architecture  more  spontaneously  in  touch  with 
its  environment  than  that  followed  by  the  mis- 
83 


sion  builders.  It  is  rhythm  and  cadence  and 
rhyme.  It  is  perfect  art.  Earthquake  has  rent, 
man  has  despoiled,  time  has  renounced  the 
Mission  San  Juan  Capistrano,  yet  its  pure 
nobility  survives,  indestructible.  The  tower 
has  fallen,  the  sanctuary  is  bare  and  weather- 
beaten,  the  cloisters  of  the  quadrangle  are 
roofless,  and  the  bones  of  forgotten  padres  lie 
beneath  the  roots  of  tangled  shrubbery;  but 
the  bells  still  hang  in  their  rawhide  lashings, 
and  the  cross  rises  white  against  the  sky.  A 
contemptuous  century  has  rolled  past,  and  the 
whole  ambitious  and  once  promising  dream  of 
monkish  rule  has  long  since  ended,  but  this 
slow  crumbling  structure  will  not  have  it  so. 
Like  some  dethroned  and  superannuated  king, 
whose  insistent  claim  to  royal  function  cloaks 
him  with  a  certain  grandeur,  it  sits  in  silent 
state,  too  venerable  for  disrespect  and  too 
august  for  pity. 

STORY    OF   THE    MISSIONS. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  the 
Spanish  throne,  desiring  to  encourage  colo- 
nization of  its  territory  of  Upper  California,  then 
unpeopled  save  by  native  Indian  tribesi,  en- 
tered into  an  arrangement  with  the  Order  of  St. 
Francis  by  virtue  of  which  that  order  undertook 
to  establish  missions  in  the  new  country  which 
were  to  be  the  nuclei  of  future  villages  and 
cities,  to  which  Spanish  subjects  were  encour- 
aged to  emigrate.  By  the  terms  of  that  ar- 
rangement the  Franciscans  were  to  possess  the 
mission  properties  and  their  revenues  for  ten 
years,  which  was  deemed  a  sufficient  period  in 
84 


which  to  fairly  establish  the  colonies,  when  the 
entire  property  was  to  revert  to  the  Spanish 
government.  In  point  of  fact  the  Franciscans 
were  left  in  undisputed  possession  for  more 
than  half  a  century. 

The  monk  chosen  to  take  charge  of  the  un- 
dertaking was  Junipero  Serra,  a  man  of  saintly 
-  piety  and  energetic  character,  who  in  child- 
hood desired  only  that  he  might  be  a  priest, 
and  in  maturity  earnestly  wished  to  be  a  mar- 
tyr. Seven  years  before  the  Declaration  of 
the  Independence  of  the  American  Colonies,  in 
the  early  summer  of  1769,  he  entered  the  bay 
of  San  Diego,  227  years  after  Gabrillo  had  dis- 
covered it  for  Spain  and  167  years  after  it  had 
been  surveyed  and  named  by  Viscaino,  during 
all  which  preceding  time  the  country  had  lain 
fallow.  Within  two  months  Serra  had  founded 
a  mission  near  the  mouth  of  the  San  Diego 
River,  which  five  years  after  was  removed 
some  six  miles  up  the  valley  to  a  point  about 
three  miles  distant  from  the  present  city  of  San 
Diego.  From  that  time  one  mission  after  an- 
other was  founded,  twenty -one  in  all,  from 
San  Diego  along  the  coast  as  far  north  as  San 
Francisco.  The  more  important  of  these  were 
built  of  stone  and  a  hard  burnt  brick  that  even 
now  will  turn  the  edge  of  the  finest  trowel.  The 
labor  of  their  construction  was  appalling.  Brick 
had  to  be  burnt,  stone  quarried  and  dressed, 
and  huge  timbers  for  rafters  brought  on  men's 
shoulders  from  the  mountain  forests,  some- 
times thirty  miles  distant,  through  rocky  canons 
and  over  trackless  hills.  The  Indians  per- 
formed most  of  this  labor,  under  direction 
fathers.  These  Indians  were  tractable. 
86 


as  a  rule.  Once,  or  twice  at  most,  they  rose 
against  their  masters,  but  the  policy  of  the 
padres  was  kindness  and  forgiveness,  although 
it  must  be  inferred  that  the  condition  of  the 
Indians  over  whom  they  claimed  spiritual  and 
temporal  authority  was  a  form  of  slavery,  with- 
out all  the  cruelties  that  usually  pertain  to  en- 
forced servitude.  They  were  the  bondsmen  of 
the  padres,  whose  aim  was  to  convert  them  to 
Christianity  and  civilization,  and  many  thou- 
sands of  them  were  persuaded  to  cluster 
around  the  missions,  their  daughters  becoming 
neophytes  in  the  convents,  and  the  others  con- 
tributing their  labor  to  the  erection  of  the 
enormous  structures  that  occupied  many  acres 
of  ground  and  to  the  industries  of  agriculture, 
cattle  raising  and  a  variety  of  manufactures. 
There  were,  after  the  primitive  fashion  of  the 
time,  woolen  mills,  wood  working  and  black- 
smith shops,  and  such  other  manufactories  as 
were  practicable  in  the  existing  state  of  the 
arts,  which  could  be  made  profitable.  The 
mission  properties  soon  became  enormously 
valuable,  their  yearly  revenues  sometimes 
amounting  to  $2,000,000.  The  exportation  of 
hides  was  one  of  the  most  important  items,  and 
merchant-vessels  from  our  own  Atlantic  sea- 
board, from  England  and  from  Spain  sailed  to 
the  California  coast  for  cargoes  of  that  com- 
modity. Dana's  romantic  and  universally  read 
"  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast "  is  the  record  of 
such  a  voyage.  He  visited  California  more 
than  a  half  a  century  ago,  and  found  itj  quaint 
Spanish-Indian  life  full  of  the  picturesque  and 
romantic. 

8? 


The  padres  invariably  selected  a 
site  favorable  for  defense,  command- 
ing views  of  entrancing  scenery,  on 
the  slopes  of  the  most  fertile  valleys 
and  convenient  to  the  running  water 
which  was  the  safeguard  of  agriculture 
in  a  country  of  sparse  and  uncertain 
rainfall.  The  Indians,  less  warlike  in 
nature  than  the  roving  tribes  east  of 
the  Rockies,  were  almost  universally 
submissive.  If  there  was  ever  an  Arcadia 
it  was  surely  there  and  then.  Against  the  blue 
of  the  sky,  unspotted  by  a  single  cloud  through 
many  months  of  the  year,  snow -crowned  moun- 
tains rose  in  dazzling  relief,  while  oranges, 
olives,  figs,  dates,  bananas  and  every  other 
variety  of  temperate  and  sub-tropical  fruit 
which  had  been  introduced  by  the  Spaniards, 
ripened  in  a  sun  whose  ardency  was  tempered 
by  the  dryness  of  the  air  into  an  equability  like 
that  of  June,  while  the  regularly  alternating 
breeze  that  daily  swept  to  and  from  ocean  and 
mountain  made  summer  and  winter  almost  in- 
distinguishable seasons,  then  as  now,  save  for 
the  welcome  rains  that  characterize  the  latter. 
At  the  foot  of  the  valley,  between  the  mountain 
slopes,  and  never  more  than  a  few  miles  away, 
the  waters  of  the  Pacific  rocked  placidly  in  the 
brilliant  sunlight  or  broke  in  foam  upon  a  broad 
beach  of  sand.  In  such  a  scene  Spaniard  and 
Indian  plied  their  peaceful  vocations,  the  one 
in  picturesque  national  garb,  the  other  almost 
innocent  of  clothing,  while  over  and  around 
them  lay  an  atmosphere  of  sacredness  which 
even  to  this  day  clings  to  the  broken  arches  and 


crumbling  walls.  Over  the  peaceful  valleys  a 
veritable  angelus  rang.  The  mellow  bells  of 
the  mission  churches  summoned  dusky  hordes 
to  ceremonial  devotion.  Want  and  strife  were 
unknown.  Prosperity  and  brotherly  love  ruled 
as  never  before. 

It  is  true  they  had  their  trials.  Earthquakes, 
which  have  been  almost  iinknown  in  California 
fora  quarter  of  a  century,  were  then  not  uncom- 
mon, and  were  at  times  disastrous.  Rio  de  los 
Temblor es  was  the  name  of  a  stream  derived 
from  the  frequency  of  earth  rockings  in  the 
region  through  which  it  flowed ;  and  in  the  sec- 
ond decade  of  our  century  the  dreaded  temblor 
upset  the  120-foot  tower  of  the  Mission  San 
Juan  Capistrano  and  sent  it  crashing  down 
through  the  roof  upon  a  congregation,  of  whom 
nearly  forty  perished.  Those,  too,  were  lawless 
times  upon  the  main.  Pirates,  cruising  the 
South  Seas  in  quest  of  booty,  hovered  about 
the  California  coast,  and  then  the  mission  men 
stood  to  their  arms,  while  the  women  and  chil- 
dren fled  to  the  interior  canons  with  their  port- 
able treasures.  One  buccaneer,  Bouchard,  re- 
pulsed in  his  attempt  upon  Dolores  and  Santa 
Barbara,  descended  successfully  upon  another 
mission  and  dwelt  there  riotously  for  a  time, 
carousing,  and  destroying  such  valuables  as  he 
could  not  carry  away,  while  the  entire  popula- 
tion quaked  in  the  forest  along  the  Rio  Trabuco. 
This  was  the  same  luckless  San  Juan  Capistrano, 
six  years  after  the  earthquake  visitation.  Then, 
too,  there  were  bickerings  of  a  political  nature, 
and  struggles  for  place,  after  the  rule  of  Mexico 
had  succeeded  to  that  of  Spain,  but  the  com- 
89 


mon  people  troubled  themselves  little  with  such 
matters. 

The  end  of  the  Franciscan  dynasty  came 
suddenly  with  the  secularization  of  the  mission 
property  by  the  Mexican  government  to  replete 
the  exhausted  treasuries  of  Santa  Ana.  Sadly 
the  fathers  forsook  the  scene  of  their  long  labors, 
and  silently  the  Indians  melted  away  into  the 
wilderness  and  the  darkness  of  their  natural 
ways,  save  such  as  had  intermarried  with  the 
families  of  Spanish  soldiers  and  colonists.  The 
churches  are  now,  for  the  most  part,  only  de- 
cayed legacies  and  fragmentary  reminders  of  a 
time  whose  like  the  world  will  never  know  again. 
Save  only  three  or  four,  preserved  by  reverent 
hands,  where  modern  worshipers,  denational- 
ized and  clad  in  American  dress,  still  kneel 
and  recite  their  orisons,  the  venerable  ruins  are 
forsaken  by  all  except  the  tourist  and  the  anti- 
quarian, and  their  bells  are  silent  forever.  One 
can  not  but  feel  the  pity  of  it,  for  in  the  history 
of  zealous  servants  of  the  cross  there  is  hardly 
a  more  noteworthy  name  than  that  of  Junipero 
Serra,  and  in  the  annals  of  their  heroic  endeav- 
or there  is  no  more  signal  instance  of  absolute 
90 


failure  than  his  who  founded  the  Calif ornia  mis- 
sions, aside  from  the  perpetuation  of  his  saintly 
name.  They  accomplished  nothing  so  far  as  can 
now  be  seen.  The  descendants  of  their  converts, 
what  few  have  survived  contact  with  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  have  no  discoverable  worth,  and,  to- 
gether with  the  greater  part  of  the  original 
Spanish  population,  have  faded  away,  as  if  a 
blight  had  fallen  upon  them. 

But  so  long  as  one  stone  remains  upon  an- 
other, and  a  single  arch  of  the  missions  still 
stands,  an  atmosphere  will  abide  there,  some- 
thing that  does  not  come  from  mountain,  or 
vale,  or  sea,  or  sky;  the  spirit  of  consecration, 
it  may  be;  but  if  it  is  only  the  aroma  of  ancient 
and  romantic  associations,  the  suggestion  of  a 
peculiar  phase  of  earnest  and  simple  human  life 
and  quaint  environment  that  is  forever  past, 
the  mission-ruins  must  remain  among  the  most 
interesting  monuments  in  all  our  varied  land, 
and  will  amply  repay  the  inconsiderable  effort 
and  outlay  required  to  enable  the  tourist  to  view 
them.  San  Diego,  the  oldest;  San  Luis  Rey, 
the  most  poetically  environed;  San  Juan  Capis- 
trano,  of  most  tragic  memory;  San  Gabriel,  the 
most  imposing,  and  Santa  Barbara,  the  most 
perfectly  preserved,  will  suffice  the  casual  sight- 
seer. These  also  lie  comparatively  near  to- 
gether, and  are  all  easily  accessible ;  the  first 
three  being  located  on  or  adjacent  to  the  rail- 
way line  between  Los  Angeles  and  San  Diego, 
the  fourth  standing  but  a  few  miles  from  the 
first-named  city,  and  the  fifth  being  almost  in 
the  heart  of  the  famous  resort  that  bears  its 
name. 


Reluctantly  will  the  visitor  tear  himself  from 
the  encompassing  charm  of  their  roofless  arches 
and  reminiscent  shadows.  They  are  a  dream 
of  the  Old  World,  indifferent  to  the  sordidness 
and  turbulency  of  the  New;  one  of  the  few 
things  that  have  been  spared  by  a  relentless 
past,  whose  habit  is  to  sweep  the  things  of 
yesterday  into  oblivion.  Almost  can  one  hear 
the  echoes  of  their  sweet  bells  ringing  out  to 
heathen  thousands  the  sunset  and  the  dawn. 

LOS   ANGELES. 

One  can  hardly  cross  this  continent  of  ours 
without  gaining  a  new  idea  of  the  immense  his- 
torical significance  of  the  westward  yearning  of 
the  Saxon,  who  in  two  and  a  half  centuries  has 
marched  from  Plymouth  Rock  to  the  Sunset 
Sea,  and  has  subordinated  every  other  people 
in  his  path  from  shore  to  shore.  The  Spaniard 
was  a  world-conqueror  in  his  day,  and  master 
of  California  before  the  stars  and  stripes  had 
been  devised.  The  story  of  his  subjugation  of 
the  southwestern  portion  of  the  New  World  is 
the  most  brilliant  in  modern  history.  It  is  a 
story  of  unexampled  deeds  of  arms.  Sword 
and  cross,  and  love  of  fame  and  gold,  are  inex- 
tricably interwoven  with  it.  The  Saxon  epic  is 
a  more  complex  tale  of  obscure  heroism,  of  emi- 
grant cavalcades,  of  pioneer  homes,  of 
business  enterprise.  The  world  may 
never  know  subiimer  indifference  to 
fatigue,  suffering  and  death  than  char- 
acterized the  Spanish  invaders  of  America 
for  more  than  two  centuries.  Whatever 
the  personal  considerations  that  allured 
92 


them,  the  extension  of  Spanish  empire 
the  advancement  of  the  cross  amid  barba- 
rians was  their  effectual  purpose.  The  con- 
quistador was  a  crusader,  and  with  all  his 
cruelty  and  rapacity  he  is  a  splendid  figure  of 
incarnate  force.  But  the  westward-flowing 
wave  of  Saxon  conquest  has  set  him,  too, 
aside.  In  this  fair  land  of  California,  won  at 
smallest  cost,  and  seemingly  created  for  him, 
his  descendants  to-day  are  little  more  than  a 
tattered  fringe  upon  the  edges  of  the  displacing 
civilization.  He  has  left  his  mark  upon  every 
mountain  and  valley  in  names  that  will  long 
endure,  but  himself  has  been  supplanted.  He 
has  not  fled.  He  has  diminished,  faded  away. 
In  1781  he  named  this  city  Pueblo  de  la 
Reina  de  los  Angeles  (Town  of  the  Queen  of 
the  Angels).  The  Saxon,  the  Man  of  Business 
now  supreme,  has  retained  only  the  last  two 
words  of  that  high-sounding  appellation;  and 
hardly  a  greater  proportion  remains  of  the 
original  atmosphere  of  this  old  Spanish  town. 
You  will  find  a  Spanish  (Mexican)  quarter,  un- 
kempt and  adobe,  containing  elements  of  the 
picturesque;  and  in  the  modern  portion  of  the 
city  a  restaurant  or  two  where  English  is  spo- 
ken in  halting  fashion  by  very  pretty  dark- 
skinned  girls,  and  you  may  satisfy,  if  not  your 
appetite,  perhaps  a  long-standing  curiosity  re- 
garding tortillas,  and  frijoles,  and  chili  con 
carne.  As  for  tamales,  they  are,  as  with  us,  a 
matter  of  curbstone  speculation.  Seiiores, 
senoras,  and  se  nor  it  as  are  plentifully  encoun- 
93 


tered  upon  the  streets,  but  are  not  in  gen- 
eral distinguished  by  any  peculiarity  of  attire. 
Upon  the  borders  of  the  city  one  finds  more 
vivid  types,  and  there  the  jacal,  a  poor  mud- 
hovel  thatched  with  straw,  is  not  quite  extinct. 
The  words  Spanish  and  Mexican  are  commonly 
used  in  California  to  distinguish  a  racial  differ- 
ence. Not  a  few  of  the  Spanish  soldiery  and 
colonists  originally  took  wives  from  among  the 
native  Indians.  Their  offspring  has  had  its 
charms  for  later  comers  of  still  other  races,  and 
a  complexity  of  mixture  has  resulted.  The 
term  Mexican  is  generally  understood  to  appjy 
,to  this  amalgamation,  those  of  pure  Castilian 
descent  preferring  to  be  known  as  Spanish. 
The  latter,  numerically  a  small  class,  represent 
high  types,  and  the  persistency  of  the  old  strain 
is  such  that  the  poorest  Mexican  is  to  a  certain 
manner  born.  He  wears  a  contented  mien,  as 
if  his  Diogenes-tub  and  his  imperceptible  larder 
were  regal  possessions,  and  he  does  not  easily 
part  with  dignity  and  self-respect. 


94 


The  existence  of  these  descendants  of  the 
Conquerors  side  by  side  with  the  exponents  of 
the  new  regime  is  one  of  the  charms  of  Los 
Angeles.  It  has  others  in  historic  vein.  After  its 
first  overland  connection  with  the  East,  by  way 
of  the  Santa  Fe  Trail,  it  rapidly  took  on  the 
character  of  a  wild  border-town;  the  influx  of 
adventurers  and  the  stimulation  of  an  unwonted 
commerce  transforming  the  Spanish  idyl  into  a 
motley  scene  of  remunerative  trade,  abandoned 
carousal  and  desperate  personal  conflict.  Its 
romantic  career  of  progress  and  amelioration 
to  its  present  enviable  estate  is  marked  by 
monuments  that  still  endure.  Fremont  the 
Pathfinder  here  first  raised  the  stars  and  stripes 
in  1846,  and  his  after  residence  as  governor  of 
the  state  is  well  preserved.  And  Winfield  Scott 
Hancock,  as  a  young  captain  of  the  ar«my,  had 
quarters  in  this  historic  town. 

In  modern  interest  it  stands  for  a  type  of  the 
material  development  that  belongs  to  our  day. 
In  1860  it  numbered  4,500  inhabitants;  in  1880, 
11,000;  in  1890,  50,000;  in  1897,  more  than  100,- 
ooo.  Surrounded  by  hundreds  of  cultivated 
farms,  whose  varied  products  form  the  basis 
of  its  phenomenal  activity  and  prosperity,  it  is 
a  really  great  city.  It  is  well  paved,  well 
lighted,  and  abundantly  served  by  intramural 
railways.  It  has  parks  of  extraordinary  beauty, 
and  avenues  shaded  by  the  eucalyptus  and  the 
pepper,  that  most  esthetic  of  trees.  Outside 
the  immediate  thoroughfares  of  trade  the 
95 


streets  are  bordered  by  attractive  homes, 
fronted  by  grounds  set  with  palm  and  orange 
and  cypress,  and  blooming  with  flowers 
throughout  the  year.  It  is  backed  by  the 
mountains  that  are  always  present  in  a  Cali- 
fornia landscape,  and  ^fifteen  miles  away  lies 
a  vista  of  the  sea,  dotted  with  island-peaks. 

PASADENA. 

Just  outside  the  limits  of  Los  Angeles,  inti- 
mately connected  by  railway  and  street-car 
lines,  is  Pasadena.  For  the  origin  of  the  name 
you  may  choose  between  the  imputed  Indian 
signification,  Crown  of  the  Valley,  and  a  cor- 
ruption of  the  Spanish  Paso  de  Eden  (Thresh- 
old of  Eden).  It  is  in  any  event  the  crown  of 
that  Eden,  the  San  Gabriel  Valley,  which  nes- 
tles warmly  in  its  groves  and  rose-bowers  be- 
low lofty  bulwarks  tipped  with  snow.  Here  an 
Eastern  multitude  makes  regular  winter  home 
in  modest  cottage  or  imposing  mansion.  Every 
fruit  and  flower  and  every  ornamental  tree  and 
shrub  known  to  Southern  California  is  repre- 
sented in  the  elaborate  grounds  of  this  little 
realm.  It  is  a  playground  of 
wealth,  a  Nob  Hill  of  Paradise, 
blessed  home  of  happy  men  and 
women  and  children  who  prefer 
this  to  vaunted  foreign  lands. 
The  extensive  Baldwin  Ranch  lies 
near  at  hand,  with  its  great  vine- 
yards, orchards,  wineries,  and 
horse-training  grounds. 
96 


fc- 


Then  there  is  Mount  Lowe. 

MOUNT    LOWE. 

At  Altadena,  four  miles  north  of  Pasadena, 
two  railways  connect  with  an  electric  line  which 
leads  to  Rubio  Canon,  two  and  a  half  miles 
distant.  There,  from  an  altitude  of  2,200  feet, 
the  Cable  Incline  conveys  visitors  to  the  summit 
of  Echo  Mountain,  nearly  1,400  feet  higher. 
From  this  point,  where  will  be  found  a  charm- 
ing hotel  and  an  observatory  already  somewhat 
famous  for  astronomical  discoveries,  radiate 
many  miles  of  bridle-paths,  and  another  elec- 
tric railway  extends  to  still  loftier  heights  at 
the  Alpine  Tavern,  nearly  a  mile  above  the  sea, 
and  within  a  thousand  feet  of  the  objective 
summit,  which  is  reached  by  bridle-path. 
There  is  no  more  pleasurable  mountain  trip  in 
the  States  than  this,  nor  anywhere  one  more 
easy  of  accomplishment.  Sufficiently  elevated 
97 


ML  above  its  surroundings  to  afford  commanding 
w  views  which  stretch  across  wondrously  fertile 
valleys  to  other  ranges  upon  the  one  hand  and 
to  the  coastwise  islands  of  the  Pacific  upon  the 
other,  the  total  altitude  is  not  great  enough  to 
distress  those  who  are  disordered  by  the  thin 
air  of  more  exalted  summits,  as  in  the  Rockies. 
Among  the  manifold  attractive  features  of  Cal- 
ifornia the  ascent  of  Mount  Lowe  worthily 
holds  a  conspicuous  place.  Its  details  are  fully 
described  in  local  publications  and  may  be 
omitted  here. 

RIVERSIDE  AND   VICINITY. 

A  locality  renowned  for  oranges,  and  or- 
anges, and  still  more  oranges,  white  and  odor- 
ous with  the  bloom  of  them,  yellow  with  the 
sheen  of  them,  and  rich  with  the  gains  of  them; 
culminating  in  a  busy  little  city  overhung  by 
the  accustomed  mountain  -  battlements  and 
pendant  to  a  glorious  avenue  many  miles  in 


99 


length,  lined  with  tall  eucalyptus,  drooping 
pepper  and  sprightly  magnolia  trees  in  straight 
lines  far  as  eye  can  see,  and  broken  only  by 
short  lateral  driveways  through  palm,  orange 
and  cypress  to  mansion  homes.  The  almost 
continuous  citrus  groves  and  vineyards  of 
Riverside  are  the  result  of  twenty  years  of 
co-operative  effort,  supplemented  by  some  pre- 
ponderating advantages  of  location. 

It  is  the  climax  of  the  fair  region  that  lies 
between  Los  Angeles  and  Redlands,  through 
which,  for  the  convenience  of  tourists,  the 
trains  of  the  Southern  California  Railway  make 
circuit.  The  diagram  of  this  circuit  is  a  cross- 
belt  or  rough  figure  8,  whose  shape,  associated 
with  the  idea  of  a  comprehensive  and  speedy 
journey,  is  responsible  for  a  name  greatly 
relished  in  a  horsy  state:  the  Kite-shaped 
Track.  Starting  from  Los  Angeles,  nearly 
thirty  communities  of  this  famous  region  are 
thus  traversed,  the  most  celebrated  of  which  are, 
in  order,  Rivera,  Santa  Fe  Springs,  La  Mirada, 
Fullerton,  Anaheim,  Orange,  Ganta  Ana, 
Corona,  Riverside,  Colton,  San  Bernardino, 
Arrowhead,  East  Highlands,  Mentone,  Red- 
lands,  North  Ontario,  North  Pomona,  Mon- 
rovia, Santa  Anita,  and  Pasadena. 

REDONDO  AND  SANTA  MONICA. 

These  are  two  popular  beaches  near  Los  An- 
geles, to  .both  of  which  frequent  trains  are  run 
daily.  Equipped  with  superb  hotels  and  fur- 
nished with  the  many  minor  attractions  that 
congregate  at  holiday  resorts,  they  are  the 
100 


Brighton  and  Manhattan  beaches  of  this  coast, 
enhanced  by  verdure  and  a  softer  clime,  and  a 
picturesquely  varied  shore.  Both  are  locally 
celebrated  among  lovers  of  bathing,  boating, 
and  fishing. 

SANTA   CATALINA   ISLAND. 

Thirty  miles  off  the  coast  it  rises,  like  Capri, 
from  the  sea,  a  many-peaked  mountain-cap, 
varying  in  width  from  half  a  mile  to  nine 
miles,  and  more  than  twenty  long.  Its  bold 
cliff  shores  are  broken  by  occasional  pockets 
rimmed  by  a  semi-circular  beach  of  sand.  The 
most  famous  of  these  is  Avalon,  quite  the  most 
frequented  camping  ground  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia. In  midsummer  its  numerous  hotels  are 
filled  to  overflowing,  and  in  the  hundreds  of 
tents  clustered  by  the  water's  edge  thousands 
of  pleasure-seekers  gather  in  the  height  of 
the  season.  Summer  is  the  period  of  Santa 
Catalina's  greatest  animation,  for  then,  as  in 
other  lands,  comes  vacation  time.  But  there  is 
even  less  variation  of  season  than  on  the  main- 
land, and  the  nights  are  soft  and  alluring, 
because  the  seaward-blowing  mountain  air  is 
robbed  of  all  its  chill  in  passing  over  the  equa- 
ble waters.  Here  after  nightfall  verandas 
and  the  beach  are  still  thronged.  The  tiny 
101 


harbor  is  filled  with  pleasure-craft  of  every 
description,  from  rowboats  to  commodious 
yachts,  and  hundreds  of  bathers  disport  in 
the  placid  element.  Wonderful  are  the  waters 
of  Avalon,  blue  as  a  Mediterranean  sky  and 
astonishingly  clear.  Over  the  side  of  your 
skiff  you  may  gaze  down  through  a  hundred 
feet  of  transparency  to  where  emerald  weeds 
wave  and  myriad  fishes,  blue  and  brown  and 
flaming  red,  swim  over  pebble  and  shell.  Or, 
climbing  the  overhanging  cliffs,  you  gain  the 
fish-eagle's  view  of  the  life  that  teems  in  water- 
depths,  and  looking  down  half  a  thousand  feet 
upon  the  fisherman  in  his  boat  see  the  bright- 
hued  fishes  flashing  far  beneath  him.  He  seems 
to  hang  suspended  in  the  sky. 

Notable  fishing  is  to  be  had.  The  barracuda 
is  plentiful ;  likewise  the  yellow- tail,  or  sea- 
salmon,  also  generally  taken  by  trolling,  and 
frequently  tipping  a  truthful  scale  at  fifty 
pounds.  Sea-bass  fishing  is  the  most  famous 
sport  here,  and.  probably  the  most  exciting 
known  anywhere  to  the  hand-fisherman.  This 
fish  is  commonly  taken,  and  in  weight  ranges 
102 


\ 


103 


from  200  to  400  pounds.  The  fisherman  who 
hooks  one  is  frequently  dragged  in  his  skiff  for 
several  miles,  and  finds  himself  nearly  as  much 
exhausted  as  the  fish  when  it  finally  comes  to 
gaff. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  novelty  of  a  trip  te 
Santa  Catalina,  for  most  travelers,  is  the  great 
number  of  flying  fish  that  inhabit  its  waters. 
At  only  a  few  miles'  distance  from  the  main- 
land they  begin  to  leap  from  beneath  the  bows 
of  the  steamer,  singly,  by  twos  and  by  half- 
dozens,  until  one  wearies  of  counting,  and  skim 
over  the  waves  like  so  many  swallows.  The 
length  of  flight  of  which  this  poetical  fish  is 
capable  proves  usually  a  surprise,  for  in  spite 
of  its  abundance  off  the  Southern  California 
coast  its  precise  character  is  none  too  gener- 
ally known.  In  size,  form  and  color  it  may 
be  roughly  compared  to  the  mackerel.  Its 
"wings"  are  muscular  fins  whose  spines  are 
connected  by  a  light  but  strong  membrane, 
and  are  four  in  number.  The  hindermost  pair 
are  quite  small,  mere  butterfly-wings  of  stout 
fiber;  the  foremost  pair  attain  a  length  of  seven 
or  eight  inches,  and  when  extended  are  two 
inches  or  more  in  breadth.  Breaking  from  the 
water  at  a  high  rate  of  speed,  but  at  a  very  low 
angle,  the  flying-fish  extends  these  wing- 
like  fins  and  holds  them  rigid,  like  the 
set  wings  of  a  soaring  hawk.  "With  the 
lower  flange  of  its  deeply  forked  tail, 
which  at  first  drags  lightly,  it  sculls  with 
a  convulsive  wriggle  of  the  whole 
body  that  gives  it  the 
casual  appearance  of 
104 


actually  winging  its  way.  The  additional  im- 
pulse thus  acquired  lifts .  it  entirely  from  the 
water,  over  whose  surface  it  then  scales  with- 
out further  effort  for  a  long  distance,  until, 
losing  in  momentum  and  in  the  sustaining 
pressure  of  the  air  beneath  its  outstretched 
fins,  it  again  touches  the  water,  either  to 
abruptly  disappear  or  by  renewed  sculling  to 
prolong  its  flight.  Often  it  remains  above  the 
waves  until  the  eye  can  no  longer  distinguish 
its  course  in  the  distance. 

In  the  less-frequented  portions  of  the  island 
the  wild  goat  is  still  common.  But  some  few 
years  ago  a  party  of  hunters,  better  armed  than 
educated,  wrought  havoc  with  the  domestic 
sheep  that  are  pastured  there;  and  now  if  you 
wish  to  hunt  the  goat  you  must  first  procure  a 
permit,  and  to  obtain  that  you  must  adduce 
evidence  of  your  ability  to  tell  the  one  from  the 
other  upon  sight.  This  precautionary  measure 
tends  to  the  preservation  of  both  sheep  and 
goat,  and  the  real  sportsman  as  well  as  the 
herdsman  is  benefited  thereby. 

Santa  Catalina  is  reached  by  steamer  from 
San  Pedro,  connecting  with  trains  from  Los 
Angeles.  The  exhilarating  ocean-ride  and  the 
unique  pleasures  of  the  island  can  not  be  too 
strongly  commended. 

SANTA   BARBARA. 

Saint  Barbara  is,  in  Spain,  the  patroness  of 
gunpowder  and  coast-defenses,  and  the  invoca- 
tion of  her  name  seems  to  have  occurred  in  the 
light  of  a  desirable  precaution  to  the  founder 
of  this  mission,  who  was  so  fond  of  building  by 
105 


the  sea;  although,  like  one  of  our  own  heroes, 
who  supplemented  his  trust  in  Providence  by 
protecting  his  ammunition  from  the  rain,  he 
kept  here,  as  at  a  number  of  other  points,  a 
garrison  of  soldiers  and  a  few  small  cannon. 

The  place  was  long  known  the  world  over  as 
"  The  American  Mentone,"  because  in  seeking 
a  term  to  convey  its  characteristics  some  com- 
parison with  celebrated  resorts  of  Europe  was 
thought  necessary  and  this  particular  com- 
parison most  fitting.  Such  definition  is  no 
longer  required.  Santa  Barbara  is  a  name  that 
now  everywhere  evokes  the  soft  picture  of  a 
rose-buried  spot,  more  than  a  village,  less  than  a 
city,  rising  gently  from  the  sea-rim  by  way  of 
shaded  avenue  and  plaza  to  the  foot  of  the  gray 
Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  above  whose  peaks  the 
condor  loves  to  soar;  where,  when  with  us  the 
winter  winds  are  most  bitter  and  ice  and  snow 
work  a  wicked  will,  normal  existence  is  a  joy- 
ous activity  out-of-doors,  in  constant  summer 
sunshine  amid  riotous  bloom.  It  presents  an 
endless  variety  of  winsomeness.  Not  idly  does 
the  bright  stingless  air  lure  one  to  seek  a  ne>v 
pleasure  for  each  succeeding  day.  The  flat 
beach  is  broken  by  rocky  points  where  the 
surf  spouts  in  white  columns  with  deafening 
roar,  and. above  it  lies  a  long  mesa,  dotted  with 
live-oaks,  that  looks  down  upon  the  little  dream- 
ing mission  city  and  far  oceanward;  and  on  the 
other  hand  the  mountain-slopes  beckon  to 
innumerable  glens,  and,  when  the  rains  have 
come,  to  broad  hillsides  of  green  and  banks  of 
blossom.  There  are  long  level  drives  by  the 
shore,  and  up  the  prolific  valley  to  famous 
107 


orchard-ranches;  and  Montecito,  a  fairyland  of 
homes,  is  close  at  hand. 

Four  of  the  Channel  Islands  lie  opposite  Santa 
Barbara:  Anacapa,  Santa  Cruz,  Santa  Rosa,  and 
San  Miguel. .  The  last  three  are  only  less  at- 
tractive by  nature  than  Santa  Catalina,  of 
which  mention  was  made  in  its  place,  and  al- 
though equal  facilities  do  not  exist  for  the  tour- 
ist, many  persons  find  their  way  there  by  means 
of  fishing  boats,  which  frequently  leave  Santa 
Barbara  for  the  island  fishing  grounds.  These 
islands,  now  permanently  inhabited  only  by 
sheep-herders  who  tend  flocks  of  many  thou- 
sands, were  once  populated  by  a  primitive  peo- 
ple whose  burial  mounds,  as  yet  only  partly  ex- 
humed by  casual  visitors,  are  rich  in  archaeo- 
logical treasures. 

Santa  Barbara  lies  northwest  from  Los  An- 
geles, on  a  branch  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad.  It  is  the  only  one  of  the  great  resorts 
of  Southern  California  not  located  upon  the 
Santa  Fe  Route. 

OSTRICH-FARMING. 

At  Coronado,  Los  Angeles,  South  Pasadena, 
and  two  or  three  other  points  are  exhibited 
troops  of  ostriches  confined  in  paddocks.  They 
are  generally  regarded  as  a  mere  curiosity  by  the 
visitor,  but  really  represent  an  established  Cali- 
fornia industry.  The  original  farm  lies  on  the 
border  of  the  town  of  Fallbrook,  a  dozen  miles 
northeast  from  Oceanside,  beyond  the  poetic 
Mission  San  Luis  Rey,  through  whose  incom- 
parable valley  the  stage-road  leads.  Here, 
where  he  roams  with  scores  of  his  fellows  over  a 
108 


quarter- section  of  hill  and  dale,  the  ostrich  ceases 
to  be  exotic.  He  is  at  home,  and  his  habits  and 
personality  become  an  easy  and  entertaining 
study.  This  Fallbrook  ostrich-farm  has  been  in 
operation  since  1883,  the  locality  having  been 
found  to  offer  conditions  closely  resembling  that 
portion  of  South  Africa  in  which  ostrich-farming 
has  so  long  been  a  source  of  wealth.  Breeding 
has  been  carried  on  until  it  appears  to  have  been 
established  that  a  California-bred  ostrich  is  in 
every  respect  the  equal  of  the  imported  African. 
There  are  about  one  hundred  ostriches  on  this 
ranch,  many  having  been  sold,  and  others  being 
absent  on  exhibition.  Every  phase  of  this  re- 
markable bird,  which  in  maturity  yields  every 
eight  months  200  of  those  costly  plumes  that 
are  coveted  by  maids  and  dames,  and  all  the 
novelties  of  its  manipulation,  are  exhibited 
upon  a  large  scale. 

WINTER    SPORTS. 

Where  out-of-door  life  is  the  rule,  there  being 
neither  frost  nor  chill  throughout  the  day,  rec- 
reation becomes  a  matter  of  pure  selection, 
unhampered  by  any  climatic  prohibition  out- 
side the  relatively  infrequent  rainstorm.  A 
few  enthusiasts  make  a  point  of  taking  a  daily 
dip  in  the  surf,  but  the  practice  does  not  reach 
the  proportions  of  a  popular  pastime  in  mid-win- 
ter. Cross  country  riding 
finds  then  its  perfect  sea- 
son, the  whole  land  being 
transformed  into  a  gar- 
den, over  enough  of  which 
the  horseman  is  free  to 
wander.  Happy  must 

109  _ 


he  be  who  knows  a  purer  sport  than  to  gallop, 
either  singly  or  with  comrades,  in  fragrant 
morning  air  over  a  fresh  sod  spangled  with 
poppy,  violet,  forget-me-not,  larkspur  and 
alfileria;  bursting  through  dense  thickets  of 
lilac  and  mustard  to  cross  an  intervening 
highway;  dipping  to  verdant  meadow  vales; 
skirting  orchards  heavy  with  fruit,  and  mount- 
ing tree-capped  knolls  that  look  off  to  glim- 
mers of  sea  between  the  slopes  of  the  hills. 
Coaching  has  its  season  then,  as  well,  and  the 
horn  of  the  tallyho  is  frequently  heard.  For 
such  as  like  to  trifle  with  the  snows  from  which 
they  have  fled,  the  foothills  are  at  hand,  ser- 
ried with  tall  firs  in  scattering  growths  or  dense 
shadowy  jungles,  topping  canons  where  the 
wagon-trail  crosses  and  recrosses  a  stream  by 
pleasant  fords,  and  the  crested  mountain-quail 
skulks  over  the  ridge  above  one's  head.  There 
may  be  had  climbing  to  suit  every  taste,  touch- 
ing extremes  of  chaotic  tangle  of  chaparral 
and  crag.  There  are  cliffs  over  which  the 
clear  mountain- water  tumbles  sheer  to  great 
depths;  notches  through  which  the  distant 
cones  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the  mother 
range  may  be  seen  in  whitest  ermine,  huge 
pines  dotting  their  drifts  like  petty  clumps  of 
weed.  Underfoot,  too,  on  the  northerly  slopes 
is  snow,  just  over  the  ridge  from  where  the 
sun  is  as  warm  and  the  air  as  gentle  as  in  the 
valley,  save  only  the  faintest  sense  of  added 
vigor  and  rarefaction.  So  near  do  these  ex- 
tremes lie,  and  yet  so  effectually  separated,  you 
may  thrust  into  the  mouth  of  a  snow-man  a 
rose  broken  from  the  bush  an  hour  or  two 
no 


before,  and  pelt  him  with  oranges  plucked  at 
the  very  mouth  of  the  canon.  And  one  who  is 
not  too  susceptible  may  comfortably  linger  un- 
til the  sun  has  set,  and  above  the  lower  dusky 
peaks  the  loftier  ones  glow  rose-pink  in  the 
light  of  its  aftershine,  until  the  moon  lights 
the  fissures  of  the  canon  with  a  ghostly 
radiance  against  which  the  black  shadows  of 
the  cliffs  fall  like  ink-blots. 

If  barracuda,  Spanish  mackerel,  yellow-tail  or 
sea-bass  should  not  be  hungry,  trout  are  plenti- 
ful in  the  mountain-streams.  Mountain  and 
valley  quail,  and  snipe,  furnish  the  most  reli- 
able sport  for  the  average  gunner.  Good  shots 
do  not  consider  it  a  great  feat  to  bring  a  hun- 
dred quail  to  bag  in  a  day's  outing.  Ducks  and 
geese  are  innumerable.  Whole  vast  meadows 
are  sometimes  whitened  with  snow-geese,  like' 
a  field  with  daisies,  and  the  air  above  is  filled 
with  flying  thousands.  Deer  are  easily  found 
by  those  who  know  how  to  hunt  them,  and 
mountain-lions  and  cinnamon  bear  are  not  in- 
frequently shot  in  the  hills. 

The  grizzly  was  once  exceedingly  common. 
One  of  the  great  sports  of  the  old  mission  days 
was  to  hunt  the  grizzly  on  horseback  with  the 
riata  for  sole  weapon,  and  it  is  of  record  that 
in  a  single  neighborhood  thirty  or  forty  of  these 
formidable  brutes  were  sometimes  captured  in 
a  night  by  roping,  precisely  as  a  modern  cow- 
boy ropes  a  steer;  the  secret  of  the  sportsmen's 
immunity  lying  in  the  fact  that  the  bear  was 
almost  simultaneously  lassoed  from  different 
sides  and  in  that  manner  rigidly  pinioned.  But 
Ursus  horribilis  has  long  since  retreated  to 
in 


deep  solitudes,  where  his  occasional  pursuers, 
far  from  approaching  him  with  a  rawhide 
noose,  go  armed  with  heavy  repeating-rifles, 
and  even  thus  equipped  are  not  eager  to  en- 
counter him  at  very  close  range. 

Cricket  is  naturally  a  favorite  diversion 
among  the  many  young  Englishmen  who  have 
located  upon  ranches;  and  yachting,  polo,  and 
tennis  do  not  want  for  devotees.  The  recent 
American  enthusiasm  for  golf  likewise  extends 
to  Southern  California.  Excellent  links  will 
be  found  in  Pasadena,  Coronado,  Santa  Monica, 
and  elsewhere. 


112 


V. 


NORTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

[Y  Northern  California  is  commonly 
meant  all  that  portion  north  of  the  six 
lowermost  counties.  The  distinction 
has  yet  no  political  significance,  but 
is  generally  recognized.  To  be  geographically 
exact,  the  present  stage  is  mainly  confined  to 
the  middle  of  the  state. 

Upon  quitting  Los  Angeles  a  gradual  relapse 
into  aridity  soon  becomes  apparent,  until  again 
you  are  fairly  on  a  desert  over  whose  flat  dry 
sands  the  water  mirage  loves  to  hover,  although 
it  no  longer  mocks  parched  perishing  caravans 
as  in  former  days.  Railroads  have  robbed 
these  wastes  of  their  terror,  and  oases  here  and 
there  mark  the  homes  of  "irrepressible  settlers. 
This  barren  quickly  gives  place  to  the  Teha- 
chapi  Pass,  a  scenic  maze  of  detours 
and  involutions  leading  down  into  vast 
irrigated  lands  in  the  fertile  valley  of 
the  San  Joaquin.  At  Berenda  a  short 
branch  diverges  eastward  to  Ray- 
mond, from  which  point  stages 
ply  to  the  renowned  valley  of  the 
113 


Sierra  Nevada  Range,  whose  majestic  beauty 
is  second  only  to  that  of  the  Grand  Canon  of 
the  Colorado. 

All  the  world  has  heard  of  the  Yosemite,  of 
its  cataract  that  plunges  1,500  feet  sheer  in 
one  of  its  three  downward  leaps,  of  its  thread- 
like cascade  that  bends  to  the  wind  through 
900  feet  of  descent,  of  its  colossal  domes, 
spires  and  arches  of  bare  granite  contrasted 
with  soft  tones  of  green  forest  and  silver  lake  ; 
and  of  the  Big  Trees  of  the  Mariposa  Grove, 
where  more  than  three  hundred  specimens  of 
the  Sequoia  gig  ante  a  are  scattered  over  an 
area  of  several  thousand  acres.  This  is  the 
regular  approach  to  those  scenes,  of  which  the 
barest  mention  should  surely  suffice,  their 
description  having  passed  into  the  literature  of 
every  language. 

Beyond  Berenda  widening  meadows  slope  to 
a  placid  inlet  of  the  sea,  whose  winding  shore 
leads  to  Oakland  Pier.  Here  a  ferry  crosses 
the  bay  to  the  city  of  San  Francisco. 

Numberless  matters  of  interest  in  this  region, 
more  or  less  widely  known  and  certain  to  be 
brought  to  the  attention  of  the  traveler  en 
route,  must  be  omitted  from  the  present  ac- 
count. The  wise  traveler,  blessed  with  leisure, 
will  stop  by  the  way  and  look  about  him.  Here 
is  a  state  whose  seaboard  is  as  long 
as  that  which  stretches  from  Massa- 
chusetts to  Georgia,  whose  mountains 
are  overtopped  in  North  America  only 
by  those  of  Alaska,  whose  mines  have 
**  astonished  the  world,  whose  wealth  of 
114 


cattle  and  sheep  and  horses  is  nearly  half  as 
great  as  that  of  its  mines,  whose  vales  have 
wrought  revelation  in  gardening  and  fruit- 
culture,  and  whose  natural  prodigies  and  land- 
scape marvels  are  innumerable.  But  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  region  of  the  Santa  Clara  Valley,  and 
Lake  Tahoe,  which  overlaps  the  border-line  of 
Nevada,  will  be  permitted  to  monopolize  the 
remainder  of  the  space  allotted  to  California. 

SAN  FRANCISCO. 

The  bay  of  San  Francisco  is  almost  com- 
pletely encircled  by  land.  The  Golden  Gate  is 
the  tideway,  a  narrow  passage  between  the  ex- 
tremities of  two  peninsulars,  upon  the  point  of 
the  southernmost  of  which  the  city  stands. 

Here,  too,  the  Franciscan  mission-builders 
were  first  upon  the  field,  and  the  present  name 
is  a  curtailment  of  Mission  de  los  Dolores  de 
Nuestro  Padre  San  Francisco  de  A  sis,  an 
appellation  commemorative  of  the  sorrows  of 
the  originator  of  the  order.  The  Mission 
Dolores,  founded  in  1776,  is  still  preserved  with 
its  little  campo  santo  of  the  dead,  a  poor  un- 
sightly strangled  thing,  structurally  unimpos- 
ing  and  wholly  wanting  in  the  poetic  atmos- 
phere of  semi-solitude  that  envelopes  the 
missions  of  Southern  California.  A  modern 
cathedral  overshadows  it,  and  shops  and 
dwellings  jostle  it.  So  nearly,  in  forty  years, 
has  all  trace  of  the  preceding  three-quarters  of 
a  century  been  obliterated.  Changed  from  a 


Spanish  to  a  Mexican  -province  early  in  the 
century,  then  promptly  stripped  of  the  treas- 
ures that  had  been  accumulated  by  monkish 
administration,  and  subsequently  ceded  to  the 
United  States,  California  had  on  the  whole  a 
dreamy,  quiet  life  until  that  famous  nugget 
was  found  in  1848.  Then  followed  the  era  of 
the  Argonauts,  seekers  of  the  golden  fleece, 
who  flocked  by  the  thousand  from  Eastern 
towns  and  cities  by  way  of  the  plains,  the 
Isthmus,  and  the  Cape  to  dig  in  the  gravel- 
beds;  lawless  adventurers  in  their  train.  San 
Francisco  practically  dates  from  that  period. 
Its  story  is  a  wild  one,  a  working-out  of  order 
and  stable  commercial  prosperity  through  chap- 
ters that  treat  of  feverish  gold-crazy  mobs,  of 
rapine  grappled  by  the  vigilance  committee,  of 
insurrection  crushed  by  military  force.  And 
in  this  prosperity,  oddly  enough,  the  produc- 
tion of  gold  has  been  superseded  in  impor- 
tance by  other  resources;  for  although  Califor- 
nia annually  yields  more  precious  metal  than 
any  other  state,  the  yearly  value  of  its  marketed 
cattle,  wool,  cereals,  roots,  fruits,  sugar  and 
wines  is  twice  as  great,  and  forms  the  real 
commercial  basis  of  the 
great  city  of  the  Pacific 
Coast,  where  the  rail- 
roads of  a  continent  and 
the  fleets  of  two  oceans 
clasp  hands  and  complete 
the  circuit  of  the  globe. 
116 


A     STREET     IN     CHINATOWN. 

117 


As  if  it  were  fearful  of  being  hid,  it  is  set 
upon  not  one  but  a  score  of  hills,  overlooking 
land  and  sea.  As  you  near  it,  by  way  of  Oak- 
land Ferry,  it  appears  to  be  built  in  terraced 
rows  rising  steeply  from  the  water-front;  but 
that  is  a  bit  of  foreshortening.  It  is  still  rather 
motley  in  architecture.  Low  frame  buildings 
were  at  first  the  rule,  partly  because  they  were 
sufficient  to  the  climate  and  partly  in  deference 
to  traditions  of  earthquake;  but  at  length 
builders  ventured  taller  structures,  of  brick  and 
stone,  and  now  every  year  many  lofty  elegant 
buildings  are  added.  Certainly  no  one  of  them 
has  been  shaken  down  as  yet,  and  possibly  the 
architects  have  authority  for  believing  that 
even  Vulcan  is  superannuated  and  in  his  sec- 
ond childhood  is  appeased  with  a  rattle. 

It  is  a  city  of  fair  aspect,  undulating  from 
the  water's  edge,  where  children  play  upon  the 
broad  sands  and  sea-lions  clamber  over  jutting 
rocks,  to  heights  of  nearly  a  thousand  feet. 
Overlooking  the  sands  and  the  seal-rocks  from 
a  considerable  bluff  is  the  Cliff  House  resort, 
and  towering  above  that  is  the  magnificent  sky- 
battlement  known  as  Sutro  Heights — a  private 
property  open  to  the  public  and  embellished  by 
landscape  gardens  and  statuary.  Other  sights 
and  scenes  are  the  Golden  Gate,  the  park  of  the 
same  name — a  thousand  acres  of  familiar  and 
rare  trees,  shrubs  and  flowers — the  largest 
mint  in  the  world,  not  a  few  magnificent  public 
buildings,  innumerable  phases  of  active  com- 
merce, and  the  contrasting  life  of  races  repre- 
senting nearly  every  nation  of  the  world. 
118 


CHINATOWN. 

A  few  steps  from  your  hotel,  at  the  turn  of  a 
corner,  you  come  at  once  upon  the  city  of  the 
Chinese.  It  is  night,  and  under  the  soft  glow 
of  paper  lanterns  and  through  the  gloom  of  un- 
lighted  alleys  weaves  an  oriental  throng.  Po- 
licemen doubtless  stand  upon  a  corner  here  and 
there,  and  small  parties  of  tourists  pick  their 
way  under  lead  of  professional  guides;  the  re- 
maining thousands  are  Celestials  all.  The 
scene  is  of  the  Chinaman  at  home,  very  John, 
restored  to  authenticity  of  type  by  the  counte- 
nance of  numbers;  and  so  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  you  become  a  foreigner  in  your  own 
land,  a  tolerated  guest  in  a  fantastic  realm 
whose  chief  apparent  hold  upon  reality  is  its 
substratum  of  genuine  wickedness.  It  is  a  gro- 
tesque jumble,  a  panopticon  of  peepshows; 
women  shoemakers  huddled  in  diminutive 
rooms;  barbers  with  marvelous  tackle  shaving 
heads  and  chins,  and  cleaning  ears  and  eye- 
balls, while  their  patrons  sit  in  the  constrained 
attitude  of  a  victim,  meekly  holding  the  tray; 
clerks,  armed  with  a  long  pointed  stick  dipped 
in  ink,  soberly  making  pictures  of  variant  spi- 
ders in  perpendicular  rows;  apothecaries  ex- 
pounding the  medicinal  virtues  of  desiccated 
toad  and  snake ;  gold- workers  making  bracelets 
of  the  precious  metal  to  be  welded  about  the 
arm  of  him  who  dares  not  trust  his  hoard  to  an- 
other's keep;  restaurateurs  serving  really  pala- 
table conserves,  with  pots  of  delectable  tea; 
shopkeepers  vending  strange  foreign  fruits  and 
dubious  edibles  plucked  from  the  depths  of 
nightmare;  merchants  displaying  infinitude  of 
119 


curious  trinkets  and  elaborate  costly  wares; 
worshipers  and  readers  of  the  book  of  fate  in 
rich  temples  niched  with  uncouth  deities;  con- 
ventional actors  playing  interminable  histri- 
onics to  respectful  and  appreciative  auditors; 
gamblers  stoically  venturing  desperate  games 
of  chance  with  cards  and  dominoes;  opium- 
smokers  stretched  upon  their  bunks  in  a  hot 
atmosphere  heavy  with  sickening  fumes;  lepers 
dependent  upon  occasional  alms  flung  by  a 
hand  that  avoids  the  contamination  of  contact; 
female  chattels,  still  fair  and  innocent  of  face 
despite  unutterable  wrongs,  yet  no  whit  above 
the  level  of  their  deep  damnation — such  is  the 
Chinatown  one  brings  away  in  lasting  memory 
after  three  hours  of  peering,  entering,  ascend- 
ing, descending,  crossing  and  delving.  A  very 
orderly  and  quiet  community,  withal,  for  the 
Mongolian  is  not  commonly  an  obstreperous 
individual,  and  his  vices  are  not  of  the  kind 
that  inflame  to  deeds  of  violence.  He  knows 
no  more  convivial  bowl  than  a  cup  of  tea.  If  he 
quits  the  gaming-table  penniless,  it  is  with  a 
smile  of  patient  melancholy.  And  his  dens  of 
deepest  horror  are  silent  as  enchanted  halls. 

All  except  its  innermost  domestic  life  maybe 
inspected  by  the  curious.  The  guides  are  dis- 
creet, and  do  not  include  the  lowest  spectacles 
except  upon  request,  although  it  is  equally  true 
that  very  many  visitors,  regarding  the  entire 
experience  as  one  of  the  conventional  sights  of 
travel,  go  fortified  with  especial  hardihood  and 
release  their  conductor  from  considerations  of 
delicacy. 

The  joss-houses,  or  temples,  are  hung  with 
1 20 


121 


ponderous  gilded  carvings,  with  costly  draperies 
and  rich  machinery  of  worship.  The  deities  are 
fearful  conceptions,  ferocious  of  countenance, 
bristling  with  hair  and  decked  with  tinseled 
robes.  A  tiny  vestal-flame  burns  dimly  in  a 
corner,  and  near  it  stands  a  huge  gong.  An 
attendant  strikes  this  gong  vociferously  to 
arouse  the  god,  and  then  prostrates  himself  be- 
fore the  altar,  making  three  salaams.  A  couple 
of  short  billets,  half  round,  are  then  tossed  into 
the  air  to  bode  good  or  ill  luck  to  you  according 
as  they  fall  upon  the  one  or  the  other  side.  A 
good  augury  having  been  secured  by  dint  of 
persistent  tossing,  a  quiverful  of  joss-sticks  is 
next  taken  in  hand  and.  dextrously  shaken  until 
three  have  fallen  to  the  floor.  The  sticks  are 
numbered,  and  correspond  to  paragraphs  in  a 
fate  book  that  is  next  resorted  to,  and  you  are 
ultimately  informed  that  you  will  live  for  forty 
years  to  come,  that  you  will  marry  within  two 
years,  and,  if  your  sex  and  air  seem  to  counten- 
ance such  a  venture,  that  you  will  shortly  make 
enormous  winnings  at  poker.  Whatever  of 
genuine  solemnity  may  cloak  the  Heathen  Chi- 
nee in  his  own  relations  to  his  bewhiskered 
deities,  he  undoubtedly  tips  the  wink  to  them 
when  the  temple  is  invaded  by  itinerant  sight- 
seers. The  smooth,  spectacled  interpreter  of 
destinies  pays  $5,000  a  year  for  the  privilege  of 
purveying  such  mummeries,  and  hardly 
can  the  Heathen  Chinee  himself  repress  a 
twinkle  of  humor  at  the  termination  of  a 
scene  in  which  he  so  easily  comes  off  best, 
having  fairly  outdone  his  Caucasian  critic 
in  cynicism,  and  for  a  price. 
122 


CHINESE     RESTAURANT. 
123 


In  the  theater  he  will  be  found,  perhaps  con- 
trary to  expectation,  to  take  a  serious  view  of 
art.  You  are  conducted  by  a  tortuous  under- 
ground passage  of  successive  step-ladders  and 
narrow  ways,  past  innumerable  bunk-rooms 
of  opium-smokers,  to  the  stage  itself,  where 
your  entrance  creates  no  disturbance.  The 
Chinese  stage  is  peculiar  in  that  while  the  act- 
ors are  outnumbered  ten  to  one  by  supernum- 
eraries, musicians  and  Caucasian  visitors,  they 
monopolize  the  intellectual  recognition  of  the 
audience.  The  men  who,  hat  on  head,  pack 
the  pit,  and  the  women  who  throng  the  two 
galleries,  divided  into  respectable  and  unre- 
spectable  by  a  rigid  meridian,  have  been  edu- 
cated to  a  view  of  the  drama  which  is  hardly  to 
be  ridiculed  by  nations  that  admit  the  concert 
and  the  oratorio.  The  Chinese  simply  need 
less  ocular  illusion  than  we  in  the  theater,  and 
perhaps  those  of  us  who  are  familiar  with  the 
grotesque  devices  by  which  our  own  stage- 
veneer  is  wrought  perform  no  less  an  intel- 
lectual feat  than  they.  Their  actors  are  indeed 
richly  costumed,  and,  women  not  being  per- 
mitted upon  the  stage,  the  youths  who  play 
female  roles  are  carefully  made  up  for  their 
parts;  and  one  and  all  they  endeavor  to  imper- 
sonate. Almost  no  other  illusion  is  considered 
necessary.  The  stage  manager  and  his  assist- 
ants now  and  then  erect  a  small  background 
suggestive  of  environment,  and  the  province  of 
the  orchestra  is  to  accentuate  emotion  —  in 
whictrheaven  knows  they  attain  no  small  de- 
gree of  success.  It  is  highly  conventionalized 
drama,  in  which  any  kind  of  incongruity  may 
124 


BALCONY    OF    JOSS-HOUSE. 
125 


elbow  the  players  provided  it  does  not  confuse 
the  mind  by  actually  intervening  between  them 
and  the  audience.  The  plays  are  largely  his- 
torical, or  at  least  legendary,  and  vary  in 
length  from  six  or  eight  hours  to  a  serial  of 
many  consecutive  nights'  duration.  There  are 
stars  whose  celebrity  packs  the  house  to  the 
limit  of  standing-room,  and  there  are  the  same 
strained  silent  attention  and  quick  rippling  re- 
sponse to  witty  passages  that  mark  our  own 
playhouses;  but  such  demonstrative  applause 
as  the  clapping  of  hands  and  the  stamping  of 
feet  is  unknown.  The  Chinese  theater-goer 
would  as  soon  think  of  so  testifying  enjoyment 
of  a  good  book  in  the  quiet  of  his  home.  But  as 
for  the  orchestra,  let  some  other  write  its  justifi- 
cation. Such  a  banging  of  cymbals,  and  ham- 
mering of  gongs,  and  monotonous  squealing  of 
stringed  instruments  in  unrememberable  minor 
intervals  almost  transcends  belief.  Without 
visible  leader,  and  unmarked  by  any  discover- 
able rhythm,  it  is  nevertheless  characterized  by 
unanimity  of  attack  and  termination,  as  well  as 
enthusiasm  of  execution,  and  historians  of 
music  are  authority  for  the  statement  that  it  is 
based  upon  an  established  scale  and  a  scientific 
theory.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  a  thing  of 
terror  first  to  greet  the  ear  on  approach,  last  to 
quit  it  in  departure,  and  may  be  counted  upon 
for  visitation  in  dreams  that  follow  indigestion. 
The  secret  society  known  as  the  Highbinders 
was  created  two  and  a  half  centuries  ago  in 
China  by  a  band  of  devoted  patriots,  and  had 
degenerated  into  an  organization  employed  to 
further  the  ends  of  avarice  and  revenge  long 
126 


before  it  was  transplanted  to  this  country.  Re- 
lieved of  the  espionage  that  had  in  some  meas- 
ure controlled  it  at  home,  and  easily  able  to 
evade  a  police  unfamiliar  with  the  Chinese 
tongue,  it  grew  in  numbers  and  power  with 
great  rapidity.  The  greater  portion  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Chinatown  has  always  been  honestly  in- 
dustrious and  law  abiding,  but  the  society  re- 
warded hostility  by  persecution,  ruin,  and  often 
death.  Merchants  were. laid  under  tribute,  and 
every  form  of  industry  in  the  community  that 
was  not  directly  protected  by  membership  in 
the  society  was  compelled  to  yield  its  quota  of 
revenue.  Vice  was  fostered,  and  courts  of  law 
were  so  corrupted  by  intimidation  or  bribery  of 
witnesses  that  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  con- 
vict a  Highbinder  of  any  criminal  offense.  A 
climax  of  terror  was  reached  that  at  last  con- 
vulsed the  environing  city,  and  by  the  pure  ef- 
frontery of  autocratic  power  the  society  itself 
precipitated  its  downfall.  A  peremptory  word 
was  given  to  the  police,  and  a  scene  ensued 
which  the  astonished  Celestials  were  forced 
to  accept  as  a  practical  termination  of  their 
bloody  drama;  a  small  epic  of  civilization 
intent  on  the  elevation  of  heathendom,  no  in- 
considerable portion  of  which  in  a  short  space 
was  blown  skyhigh.  The  Highbinders  were 
scattered,  many  imprisoned  or  executed,  innu- 
merable dives  emptied,  temples  and  secret 
council-rooms  stripped  bare,  and  the  society  in 
effect  undone.  Yet  still,  for  one  who  has 
viewed  the  lowest  depths  of  the  Chinatown  of 
to-day,  the  name  will  long  revive  an  uncher- 
ished  memory  of  two  typical  faces,  outlined 
127 


upon  a  background  of  nether  flame.  One  is  the 
face  of  a  young  woman  who,  in  a  cell  far  under- 
ground, leans  against  a  high  couch  in  a  man- 
ner half- wan  ton,  half-indifferent,  and  chants  an 
unintelligible  barbaric  strain.  The  other  is 
that  of  her  owner,  needing  only  a  hangman's 
knot  beneath  the  ear  to  complete  a  wholly  sat- 
isfactory presentment  of  irredeemable  deprav- 
ity. And  that  is  why  one  quits  the  endless 
novelties  of  the  peepshow  without  regret,  and 
draws  a  breath  of  relief  upon  regaining  the  fa- 
miliar streets  of  civilization. 

SANTA   CLARA   VALLEY. 

Below  the  junction  of  San  Francisco's  penin- 
sular with  the  main  land  the  Santa  Clara  Val- 
ley stretches  southward  between  the  coast  and 
Santa  Cruz  ranges.  Along  this  valley  lies  the 
way  to  San  Jose  and  the  coast  resorts  of  Santa 
Cruz  and  Monterey,  past  intermediate  points 
of  celebrity. 

Palo  Alto  is  the  site  of  the  Stanford  Univer- 
sity, where  in  a  campus  of  8,000  acres,  an  ar- 
boretum to  which  every  clime  has  liberally  con- 
tributed, stands  this  magnificent  memorial  of  a 
cherished  son.  The  buildings  are  conceived  in 
the  style  of  mission  architecture — low  struc- 
tures connected  by  an  arcade  surrounding  an 
immense  inner  court,  wTith  plain  thick  walls, 
arches  and  columns,  built  of  buff  sandstone 
and  roofed  with  red  tiles.  Richly  endowed, 
this  university  is  broadly  and  ambitiously 
planned,  and  is  open  to  both  sexes  in  all  de- 
partments. 

Hard  by,  at  Menlo  Park,  is  the  Stanford  horse 
breeding  and  training  establishment,  where 
128 


hundreds  of  thoroughbreds  are  carefully  tended 
in  paddock  and  stable  and  daily  trained.  Even 
one  who  is  not  a  lover  of  horses,  if  such  a  person 
exists,  can  not  fail  to  find  entertainment  here, 
where  daily  every  phase  of  equine  training  is 
exhibited  from  the  kindergarten  where  toddling 
colts  are  taught  the  habit  of  the  track  to  the 
open  course  where  famous  racers  are  speeded. 
Perhaps  there  is  not,  in  the  whole  of  Northern 
California,  a  town  more  attractively  environed 
than  San  Jose.  It  lies  in  the  heart  of  the  val- 
ley, protected  by  mountain-walls  from  every 
wandering  asperity  of  land  or  sea,  a  clean,  regu- 
larly platted  city,  reaching  off  through  avenues 
of  pine  and  of  eucalyptus,  and  through  or- 
chards and  vineyards,  to  pretty  forest  slopes 
where  roads  climb  past  rock,  glen  and  rivulet 
to  fair,  commanding  heights.  The  immediate 
neighborhood  is  the  center  of  prune  production, 
and  every  year  exports  great  quantities  of 
berries,  fruits  and  wines.  The  largest  seed- 
farms  and  the  largest  herd  of  short-horned 
cattle  in  the  world  are  here. 

Twenty-six  miles  east  from  San  Jose  is  Mount 
Hamilton,  upon  whose  summit  the  white  wall 
of  the  Lick  Observatory  is  plainly  visible  at 
that  distance.  This  observatory  has  already  be- 
come celebrated  for  the 
discovery  of  Jupiter's 
fifth  satellite,  and  gives 
promise  of  affording 
many  another  astronom- 
ical sensation  in  time  to 
come.  Visitors  are  per- 
mitted to  look  through 
129 


the  great  telescope  one  night  in  the  week,  and 
in  the  intervals  a  smaller  glass  sufficiently  pow- 
erful to  yield  a  good  view  of  the  planets  in  the 
broad  sunlight  of  midday  is  devoted  to  their 
entertainment.  It  is  reached  by  stage  from 
San  'Jose>  the  round  trip  being  made  daily. 
Aside  from  the  attraction  of  the  famous  sky- 
glass,  supplanted  by  the  multitudinous  and 
elaborate  mechanisms  of  the  observatory,  the 
ride  through  the  mountains  to  Mount  Hamilton 
more  than  compensates  the  small  fatigue  of  the 
journey.  There  are  backward  glimpses  of  the 
beautiful  valley,  and  a  changing  panorama  of 
the  Sierra,  the  road  making  loops  and  turns  in 
the  shadow  of  live  oaks  on  the  brink  of  pro- 
found crater-like  depressions. 

Santa  Cruz  is  a  popular  resort  by  the  sea, 
possessing  picturesque  rocks  and  a  fine  back- 
ground of  the  mountains  that  bear  its  name. 
Near  at  hand  is  a  much-visited  grove  of  Big 
Trees,  the  approach  to  which  leads  through  oak 
and  fir,  past  canons  fringed  with  madrona  and 
manzanita,  and  fern  and  flower. 

Monterey  was  the  old  capital  of  California  in 
the  earliest  period  of  Spanish  rule.  Here  the 
forest  crowds  upon  the  sea  and  mingles  its  odor 
of  balm  with  that  of  the  brine.  The  beach 
that  divides  them  is  broken  by  cliffs  where  the 
cypress  finds  footing  to  flaunt  its  rugged 
boughs  above  the  spray  of  the  waves,  and  in  the 
gentle  air  of  a  perfect  climate  the  wild  flowers 
hold  almost  perpetual  carnival.  Upon  such  a 
foundation  the  Hotel  del  Monte,  with  its  vast 
parks  of  lawn  and  garden  and  driveway,  cov- 
ering many  hundred  acres,  is  set,  all  its 
130 


f 


magnificence  lending  really  less  than  it  owes  to 
the  infinite  charm  of  Monterey.  Its  fame  has 
spread  through  every  civilized  land,  and  Eu- 
ropean as  well  as  American  visitors  make  up  its 
throng.  Here,  as  elsewhere  upon  the  coast, 
foreign  travelers  are  seen  most  in  that  season 
when  the  extraordinary  equability  of  winter 
allures  them  by  contrast  with  their  native  en- 
vironment, but  the  Calif ornian  knows  its  sum- 
mer aspect  to  be  no  less  winsome  ;  and  so,  from 
the  year's  beginning  to  its  end,  there  is  one 
long  gala  day  at  Monterey,  its  parks  and 
beaches  and  forests  animated  by  wealthy  and 
fashionable  pleasure-seekers.  The  Del  Monte 
is  located  in  a  scattering  grove  of  200  acres,  a 
little  east  from  the  town,  and  for  lavishness  of 
luxury  and  splendor  in  construction  and  ac- 
cessory has  perhaps  no  superior.  ^Bathing, 
boating,  camping  and  driving  are  the  current 
out-of-door  activities,  and  specific  points  of  in- 
terest are  the  Carmel  Mission,  Pacific  Grove, 
Moss  Beach,  Seal  Rocks,  Cypress  Point  and 
Point  Pinos  Lighthouse.  The  amount  of  yearly 
rainfall  at  Monterey  is  more  than  at  San  Diego 
and  less  than  at  Santa  Barbara.  The  mean  mid- 
summer temperature  is  the  same,  namely,  65°, 
but  in  winter  the  thermometer  averages  lower, 
the  mean  temperature  of  January  being  50°  at 
Monterey,  56°  at  Santa  Barbara,  and  57°  at  San 
Diego.  These  figures  compare  most  favorably 
with  the  records  of  European  resorts,  and  the 
absence  of  humidity  works  a  further  ameliora- 
tion both  in  summer  and  winter,  firmly  estab- 
lishing the  resorts  of  California  as  character- 
ized by  the  most  equable  climate  known. 
132 


LAKE  TAHOE. 

More  than  6,000  feet  above  the  sea,  among 
mountains  that  rise  from  its  edge  to  a  further 
altitude  of  from  2,000  to  5,000  feet,  and  sur- 
rounded by  the  deep  forest,  this  lake  unites 
the  highest  poetic  beauty  with  definite  attrac- 
tions for  the  artist  and  the  sportsman.  It  is 
twenty-five  miles  long  and  half  as  wide,  and 
reaches  a  depth  of  1,700  feet.  Hotels  and 
cottages  sprinkle  its  shores,  little  steamers  ply 
upon  its  silvery  surface,  and  there  are  tents 
and  boats  of  camping  fishermen  and  hunters. 
Here  to  the  aromatic  odor  of  the  forest  come 
lovers  of  pure  joys  for  comparative  solitude  in 
the  heart  of  nature.  In  the  adjacent  wilder- 
ness there  is  game  to  tax  the  address  of  the 
bravest  gunner,  and  mountain-streams  shout 
in  torrent  through  a  thousand  fierce  tangles  of 
woodland  dear  to  artists  and  unprofessional 
lovers  of  un trammeled  beauty;  and  from  the 
mountain-tops  one  may  look  far  out  over  the 
barriers  that  strive  to  secrete  this  exquisite  spot 
from  the  outer  world.  Fragments  of  its  loveli- 
ness have  been  copied  by  many  a  brush  and 
many  a  camera, 
poets  have  sung 
of  it,  travelers 
have  told  of  it  in 
labored  prose ; 
but  Lake  Tahoe 
eludes  transla- 
tion. Have  you 
ever  chanced 
u pon  a  spot 
where  Nature, 


turning  from  gorgeous  pigments  and  heroic  can- 
vases in  a  swift  softening  mood,  had  spent  the 
white  heat  of  inspiration  upon  a  picture  in  which 
was  permitted  neither  asperity  nor  want  of  per- 
fect grace,  a  thing  finely  poised  between  gran- 
deur and  gentleness,  wood  and  water  and 
mountain  and  sky,  rhymed  in  every  line  and 
tone  to  a  fine  exaltation  such  as  the  Greek 
knew  when  he  dreamed  a  statue  out  of  the 
marble?  Tahoe  is  of  that  category.  It  is 
reached  by  stage  from  Truckee,  on  the  line 
of  the  Southern  Pacific,  our  returning  east- 
ward route  from  San  Francisco. 


134 


VI. 

NEVADA  AND  UTAH. 

^EVADA  formerly  existed  as  part  of 
the  territory  of  Utah,  and,  having 
leaped  into  sudden  significance  with 
the  discovery  of  silver  sulphurets  in 
1858,  was  separately  organized  and  admitted 
into  the  Union  during  the  Civil  War.  Trap- 
pers were  its  pioneers  in  1825,  overland  emi- 
grants crossed  it  as  early  as  1834,  an(i  the 
explorations  of  Fremont  began  nine  years  later. 
It  is  a  land  of  silver  and  sage-brush  and 
steaming  mineral  springs;  of  salt  and  borax  and 
sulphur;  of  parallel  mountain  ranges,  rolling 
plains  and  flat  alkaline  sands,  of  limpid  fish- 
thronged  lakes  and  brackish  sink  holes  that 
suck  the  flow  of  its  rivers.  Its  composition  is 
endlessly  diverse,  and  there  is  abundance  of 
noble  scenery,  but  this  does  not  generally  lie 
adjacent  to  the  railway  route.  In  its  transit 
the  tourist  will  not  unlikely  be  aware  of  a  few 
hours  of  monotony— the  first  and  the  last  to  be 
135 


encountered  in  the  entire  course  of  the  journey. 
Reno,  Winnemucca  and  Elko  are  the  chief 
cities  that  will  be  seen,  and  Humboldt  River 
is  followed  closely  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  distance  across  the  state.  Nevada,  as 
everybody  knows,  means  snowy.  The  name 
was  derived  from  the  range  upon  its  western 
border,  and  was  not  suggested  by  any  charac- 
teristic of  the  climate,  which  is  dry  and  health- 
ful, and,  save  in  extreme  altitudes,  notably 
temperate. 

Crossing  the  Utah  line,  and  keeping  well 
above  the  edge  of  the  desolate  barren  noted  on 
the  maps^as  the  Great  Salt  Lake  Desert,  you 
come  quickly  into  view  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake 
itself,  whose  shore  is  approximately  followed  for 
half  its  circumference  upon  the  north  and  east. 
Between  the  eastern  shore  and  the  Wasatch 
136 


Range  the  southward-trending  valley  stretches 
for  many  miles.  Ogden,  Salt  Lake  City,  Prove, 
Springville  and  numerous  pretty  Mormon  vil- 
lages are  scattered  along  the  line,  and  there  is 
a  large  body  of  fresh  water  known  as  Utah 
Lake,  linked  to  the  great  salt  inland  sea  by  the 
Jordan  River .  America  boasts  no  fairer  or  more 
fruitful  valley  than  this.  Beyond,  the  circular 
eastward  sweep  of  the  route  passes  Red  Nar- 
rows, Soldier  Summit,  Castle  Gate,  Green 
River  and  the  Book  Cliffs,  and  leads  through 
the  noble  valley  of  the  Grand  River  to  the  Col- 
orado boundary  at  Utaline. 

Desert,  broken  by  innumerable  lovely  oases; 
salt  sea  and  fresh-water  lake;  monuments  of  an 
institution  of  world-wide  notoriety,  and  its  com- 
munities alternating  or  mingled  with  "Gentile" 
population;  mountain  passes,  canons,  noble 
gateways,  and  memorable  rock -formations  and 
river-valleys — these  are  the  distinguishing 
features  of  Utah. 

OGDEN. 

Focal  point  of  converging  railroads  from  the 
east  and  west,  and  nourished  by  many  thousand 
acres  of  irrigated  land  immediately  surround- 
ing, Ogden  is  the  second  city  of  Utah  in  im- 
portance. The  Wasatch  Mountains  protect  it 
upon  the  east  and  north,  and  form  a  background 
137 


of  exceeding  beauty  here  as  elsewhere.  The 
attractions  of  its  environs  include  lakes,  springs, 
rivers  and  parks,  and  Ogden  Canon,  a  nine- 
mile  stretch  of  rugged  rock-fissures  and  roaring 
waters. 

SALT   LAKE   CITY. 

Here  in  1847  came  Brigham  Young  and  his 
band  of  Latter  Day  Saints,  driven  from  the 
States  by  the  unpopularity  of  their  tenets  and 
practice.  The  story  of  the  Mormons  is  a  tragic 
one,  difficult  reading  for  a  dispassionate  reader, 
like  that  of  the  Puritanic  persecution  of  Quakers 
and  reputed  practitioners  of  witchcraft  two  cen- 
turies ago.  It  is  true  the  Mormon  offered  an 
affront  to  the  public  sense  of  morality,  but  a  later 
generation,  that  counts  so  many  avowed  adher- 
ents to  the  notion  that  even  monogamous  mar- 
riage is  a  failure,  should  have  only  commisera- 
tion for  a  sect  committed  to  utter  bankruptcy  in 
that  particular.  In  any  event,  abhorrence  of 
polygamy  can  not  serve  as  excuse  for  the  cruel- 
ties visited  upon  the  early  Mormons  by  the  mobs 
that  despoiled,  maltreated  and  murdered  them. 
In  this  lies  our  disgrace,  part  sectional,  part 
national,  that  their  one  offensive  characteristic 
was  counted  a  forfeiture  of  their  every  human 
right,  and  their  defiance  of  a  single  law  made 
pretext  for  the  violation  of  twenty  in  their  per- 
secution. They  are  familiar  to  the  public  mind 
almost  solely  in  their  character  as  polygamists 
138 


claiming  sanction  of  divine  authority;  yet,  al- 
though polygamy  no  longer  exists  in  .Utah, 
the  Church  of  Latter  Day  Saints  having  for- 
mally renounced  it,  the  name  of  Mormon  still 
has  power  to  awaken  prejudice  among  those 
who  know  the  sect  only  by  repute.  The  aban- 
donment of  this  prejudice  is  demanded  not  by 
charity,  but  by  common-sense.  The  patriarchal 
households  of  the  pious  old  Jewish  kings  are 
not  more  utterly  a  thing  of  the  past  than  are 
those  of  the  Mormons,  and  stripped  of  them 
Mormonism  contains  nothing  to  offend  in  a 
country  that  pretends  to  tolerance  in  matters 
of  religion. 

The  putative  author  of  the  Book  of  Mormon 
was  a  prophet  of  that  name.  It  purports  to 
be  an  abridgment  of  the  book  of  the  prophet 
Ether,  which  narrated  that  the  Jaredites  came 
to  America  in  the  great  dispersion  that  fol- 
lowed the  confusion  of  tongues  at  Babel,  and 
were  destroyed  for  their  degeneracy  in  the 
year  600  B.  C.  In  the  same  year  Lehi  led  a 
second  exodus,  from  Jerusalem,  which  landed 
at  Chili,  from  which  point  the  populating  of 
North  America  was  again  begun.  Ether's 
book  was  discovered  by  this  colony,  which  in 
course  of  time  was  divided  into  two  factions, 
the  Nephites  and  the  Lamanites.  The  former 
were  eventually  exterminated  by  the  latter, 
who  relapsed  into  barbarism  and  became  the 
ancestral  stock  of  our  native  Indians.  Mor- 
mon was  a  prophet  of  the  Nephites,  and  to  the 
abridgment  of  Ether's  story  added  an  account 
of  the  history  of  the  second  colony,  and  hid 
his  own  tablets  where  they  were  found  by  Jo- 
139 


140 


seph  Smith  and  by  him  miraculously  trans- 
lated. The  basis  of  the  religious  teaching  is 
Biblical;  the  exposition  constitutes  Latter  Day 
sanctity. 

The  followers  of  Young  found  the  Salt  Lake 
Valley  a  desert  of  unproductiveness,  despite  the 
beauty  of  its  contour.  They  made  it  an  unprece- 
dented oasis,  a  broad  garden  of  lovely  fertility. 
A  band  of  pauper  zealots,  they  camped  upon 
a  barren  and  compelled  it  to  sustain  them. 
They  found  inspiration  in  the  striking  topo- 
graphical resemblance  between  their  Desert 
and  Palestine,  and  gave  the  name  Jordan  to 
the  little  river  that  joined  their  two  contrasting 
waters,  as  old  Jordan  joins  the  Sea  of  Tiberias 
with  the  Dead  Sea.  They  chose  a  site  for 
Zion,  and  in  its  center,  in  1853,  they  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  Temple,  which  the  predeter- 
mined forty  years  of  building  exactly  brought 
to  completion.  And  as  the  government  was  of 
the  Church,  so  the  Temple  was  regarded  as 
the  pivot  of  Zion.  The  ordinal  numbers,  com- 
bined with  the  four  cardinal  points,  still  serve 
to  distinguish  the  different  streets  of  the  city, 
as  clearly  indicating  the  exact  relation  of  each 
to  the  location  of  the  great  edifice.  Second 
West  Street,  East  Fifth  South  Street,  and  the 
like,  are  finger-posts  that  guide  the  stranger 
infallibly  to  the  Mormon  mecca. 

It  was  a  curious  reversion  to  the  old  patri- 
archal idea  of  life,  foreign  to  the  spirit  of  our 
time  and  so  foredoomed  to  failure;  but  the 
dreamers  had  hard  muscles  and  determined 
souls.  They  grubbed  bushes,  they  dug  ditches, 
they  irrigated,  they  fought  the  grasshopper, 
141 


they  subsisted  on  the  substance  of  things  hoped 
for,  enduring  extremes  of  hunger  and  privation 
in  the  first  years  of  their  grapple  with  the  desert. 
And  by  the  time  the  reluctance  of  earth  had 
been  overcome  and  material  prosperity  had 
been  won  the  westward  flow  of  emigration  had 
brought  about  the  human  conflict  once  more. 
The  records  of  that  conflict  have  been  written 
by  the  accustomed  partisan  hands,  but  the  plain 
truth  is  that  whether  we  are  Mormon,  or  Cath- 
olic, or  Protestant,  or  Mohammedan,  or  Gentile 
pure  and  unalloyed,  we  are  intolerant  all;  and 
when  we  lay  hold  upon  an  issue  it  is  more  than 
a  meeting  of  Greeks,  it  is  savage  to  savage,  old 
Adam  himself  warring  against  himself  in  the 
persons  of  his  common  children.  Mormonism 
was  a  dream  of  religious  enthusiasm  mixed  with 
earthly  dross,  overthrown  by  dross  of  earth  that 
invoked  the  name  of  religion.  Yet  the  over- 
throw was  plainly  plotted  by  the  higher  powers, 
and  the  conquerors  were  in  their  employ. 

The  distinguishing  features  of  the  sect,  as 
now  restricted,  are  not  apparent  to  the  casual 
traveler,  to  whom  Zion  is  only  a  romantic  and 
imposing  relic  of  a  day  that  has  been  outlived. 
But  the  organization  still  en- 
dures, and  there  is  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  its  distinction  is 
vital  enough  in  the  sight  of 
Mormons  themselves,  as  it  is  to 
any  clan  or  denomination.  In- 
dividually they  are  esteemed 
and  respected  among  the  "  Gen- 
tiles "  that  have  invaded  Salt 
Lake  City, 


and  Brigham  Young  himself,  in  the  fullness 
of  his  almost  autocratic  power,  manifested 
many  of  the  qualities  that  make  great  names  in 
history.  That  he  made  scandalous  misuse  of 
that  power  is  generally  believed,  and,  however 
great  he  may  have  deemed  the  danger  of  his 
people,  it  is  certain  he  rebelled  against  the 
Government  of  these  United  States;  but  he  was 
essentially  a  great  leader  and  a  man  of  many 
broad  and  beneficent  conceptions.  As  con- 
tractor he  built  hundreds  of  miles  of  the  first 
transcontinental  railroad,  and  built  a  connect- 
ing road  nearly  forty  miles  in  length  to  place 
Salt  Lake  City  in  commercial  intimacy  with  the 
outside  world.  The  first  telegraph  line  to  span 
the  Rockies  was  principally  constructed  by  him 
as  contractor.  And  it  is  remembered  of  him 
that  he  furnished  a  Mormon  battalion  to  the 
Mexican  War,  and  protected  from  Indian  dep- 
redations the  transportation  of  the  United 
States  mails  through  Utah  at  a  time  when  Gov- 
ernment troops  could  not  be  spared  for  the  serv- 
ice. The  establishment  of  the  Territory  of 
Utah  was  the  death  knell  of  the  State  of  Des- 
eret  which  he  had  founded,  yet  the  President 
had  enough  confidence  in  his  loyalty  to  appoint 
him  its  first  governor.  That  he  should  in  the 
unavoidable  ultimate  issue  take  positive  ground 
on  the  side  of  his  people  was  to  have  been  ex- 
pected of  the  Mormon  leader. 

Young  is  the  personification  of  the  sect  to  the 
world  at  large,  and  his  memory  overhangs  Salt 
Lake  City,  perpetuated  in  the  broad  private 
grounds  with  their  high  walls  and  imposing 
gateway,  where  so  long  he  dwelt  and  wherein 
144 


death  he  lies  buried.  And  near  at  hand  are  the 
erstwhile  palaces  of  his  favorite  wives,  and 
miscellaneous  structures  that  had  religious  and 
governmental  uses  in  the  singular  day  of  his 
prime. 

GREAT    SALT   LAKE. 

Great  Salt  Lake  has  lost  nineteen-twentieths 
of  its  ancient  original  dimensions,  which  still  are 
traceable.  Its  area  was  once  equal  to  one-half 
that  of  the  present  Territory.  It  now  covers  an 
extent  of  about  2,000  square  miles,  in  which  are 
included  a  dozen  or  more  mountain-islands. 
Its  waters  are  temperately  warm  and  five  times 
as  salt  as  the  ocean.  The  human  body  floats 
upon  their  surface  with  cork -like  buoyancy, 
without  the  slightest  sustaining  effort.  You 
may  double  your  knees  under  you  and  recline 
upon  it,  like  a  cherub  on  a  cloud,  with  head 
and  shoulders  protruding.  With  sun-umbrella 
and  book  you  may  idly  float  and  read  at  pleas- 
ure, or  safely  take  a  nap  upon  the  bosom  of  Salt 
Lake  if  you  can  contrive  to  maintain  a  suitable 
balance  meanwhile ;  for  you  will  find  a  marked 
disposition  on  the  part  of  this  brine  to  turn  you 
face  down,  which  position  is  anything  but  a 
pleasant  pickle  when  unexpectedly  assumed,  for 
the  membrane  of  eyes  and  nose  and  mouth  is 
not  on  friendly  terms  with  such  saline  bitterness. 
145 


The  shore  of  the  lake  is  a  few  miles  distant 
from  the  city,  and  Garfield  Beach,  some  eighteen 
miles  away,  is  the  most  popular  bathing-resort. 
Here  a  pavilion  and  whole  streets  and  avenues 
of  dressing  rooms  have  been  provided  for  the 
hundreds  of  bathers  who  every  day  in  season 
flock  to  the  lake.  Everybody  bathes,^  and  the 
scene,  novel  and  amusing  by  reason  of  the 
remarkable  specific  gravity  of  the  water,  differs 
from  that  of  any  other  watering-place.  The  nat- 
ural aspect  is  full  of  soft  beauty,  not  unlike  that 
of  the  Southern  California  shore  looking  off  to 
the  coast  islands  of  the  Pacific,  save  that  the 
semi-tropical  vegetation  is  wanting. 

Salt  Lake  is  a  Dead  Sea,  bare  of  fish  or  fowl 
except  for  a  minute  and  not  numerous  species 
of  the  former.  There  is  said  to  be  a  Mormon 
tradition  that  in  the  time  of  their  grasshopper 
plague  an  enormous  flight  of  gulls  issued  from 
its  horizon  and  cleared  the  fields  of  their  pest. 
The  spectacle  of  those  sea-scavengers  waddling 
through  the  brown  stubble  in  pursuit  of  the 
grasshopper  must  have  been  diverting,  at  least, 
and  the  occurrence  was  doubtless  miraculous 
if  true. 


146 


VII. 
COLORADO. 

JHIS  State  is  the  apex  of  North  Amer- 
ica, crown  of  the  slopes  that  rise  from 
Pacific  and  Atlantic  shores.  It  is  the 
heart  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  chain, 
numbering  hundreds  of  individual  summits 
that  rise  to  a  height  of  more  than  13,000  feet, 
and  many  whose  altitude  exceeds  14,000.  Be- 
tween the  ranges  lie  numerous  parks,  broad 
basins  of  great  fertility  and  surpassing  loveli- 
ness, diversified  by  forest,  lake  and  stream, 
and  themselves  exalted  to  an  altitude  of  from 
8,000  to  10,000  feet.  The  precipitous  water- 
sheds of  this  titanic  land  give  birth  to  many 
important  rivers,  such  as  the  Platte,  Arkansas, 
Rio  Grande  del  Norte  and  Grand,  whose  chan- 
nels, save  where  they  occasionally  loiter 
through  the  alluvial  parks,  are  marked  by  fierce 
cataracts  and  gloomy  gorges. 

The  cartons  of  the  Grand  River  have  not  infrequently 
been  confounded  with  the  Grand  Cafion  of  the  Colo- 
rado River,  in  Arizona,  by  tourists  who  have  not 
visited  the  latter,  in  consequence  of  an  unfortunate 
coincidence  of  names,  and  further  confusion  has  re- 
sulted from  the  use  of  the  title  "Grand  Canon"  in 
connection  with  the  gorges  of  the  Gunnison  and  the 
Arkansas,  and  the  Cafion  of  the  Yellowstone.  The 
Grand  Cafion  of  Arizona  is  entitled  by  divine  right  to 
a  monopoly  of  the  name. 

147 


This  Alpine  land  of  prodigious  scenery  and 
inspiriting  air,  and  of  phenomenal  mineral  and 
agricultural  wealth,  we  now  enter  upon  the 
west.  Every  successive  scene  is  an  event, 
every  turn  of  the  way  a  revelation,  advancing 
in  ascending  climaxes. 

From  Grand  Junction,  at  the  confluence  of 
the  Grand  and  Gunnison  rivers,  to  Colorado 
Springs  the  traveler  may  choose  between  the 
route  of  the  Colorado  Midland  direct  and  that 
of  the  Denver  &>  Rio  Grande  via  Pueblo. 
Three  intermediate  points  are  common  to 
both,  namely,  Glen  wood  Springs,  Leadville  and 
Buena  Vista,  not  to  mention  Manitou,  which  is 
closely  connected  with  Colorado  Springs  by  a 
trolley  line  as  well.  Each  route  crosses  the 
Continental  Divide  at  a  great  altitude,  and  pre- 
sents a  rapid  succession  of  extraordinary 
scenes,  in  which  valley,  peak,  gorge,  cliff, 
meadow,  forest,  lake  and  torrent  are  com- 
bined and  contrasted. 

148 


The  Midland  spec- 
ially offers  Hagerman 
Pass,  Seven   Castles, 
Red     Rock    Canon, 
Granite    Canon,    and 
the  consecutive  chain 
of  Ute  Pass  resorts.    The  pre-eminent 
individual  features  of  the  Rio  Grande 
are  Tennessee  and  Marshall  passes, 
the  Canon  of  the  Grand  River  and 
the  Royal  Gorge  of  the   Arkansas, 
all  which,  and  many  more,  are  fully  described 
in  local  publications  easily  obtainable. 

GLENWOOD    SPRINGS. 

Where  the  Grand  River  issues  from  somber 
canon-walls  into  a  mountain -hemmed  valley, 
just  above  the  confluence  of  the  foaming  tor- 
rent of  Roaring  Fork,  numerous  thermal 
springs  of  saline  and  chalybeate  waters  boil 
from  its  bed  and  from  its  grass-covered  banks, 
and  natural  caves  ars  filled  with  their  vapor. 
Here  is  Glenwood  Springs,  lately  the  resort  of 
Utes,  and  the  home  of  deer,  elk  and  bear; 
which  latter  have  retreated  only  to  the  border- 
ing forest.  Youngest  of  the  great  watering 
places  of  Colorado,  its  distinction  lies  in  the 
extraordinary  character  and  voluminous  flow 
of  the  springs,  the  unique  manner  in  which 
they  have  been  brought  into  service,  and  the 
superb  hotel,  bath-house  and  park  with  which 
the  natural  attractiveness  of  the  spot  has  been 
perfected.  In  the  middle  of  the  park  the  larg- 
est spring  feeds  an  enormous  pool,  covering 
more  than  an  acre,  from  three  to  five  feet 
149 


deep,  paved  with  smooth  brick  and  walled  \Wth 
sandstone.  A  fountain  of  cold  mountain-water 
in  the  center  tempers  the  pool  to  gradations 
that  radiate  to  its  rims.  Here  bathing  is  in 
season  throughout  the  year.  In  winter  or 
summer  the  temperature  of  the  water  and  of 
the  immediate  atmosphere  has  the  same  deli- 
cious warmth,  and  all  the  snow  and  ice  that 
Colorado  can  boast  in  January  at  an  altitude  of 
over  five  thousand  feet  does  not  interfere 
with  out-of-door  bathing  at  Glenwood  Springs. 
Catarrh,  rheumatism,  diseases  of  the  blood,  and 
many  ailments  that  do  not  yield  to  medicine  are 
either  wholly  cured  or  relieved  by  these  waters. 
In  the  bath-house  are  private  bath-rooms, 
with  attendants  and  all  manner  of  appliances, 
for  those  who  prefer  them,  or  to  whom  the 
public  pool  is  tmsuited.  Radical  treatment  is 
given  in  the  vapor-caves,  which  have  been 
divided  into  compartments  and  fitted  for  the 
purpose. 

150 


The  park-grounds  rise  in  successive  terraces 
to  the  Hotel  Colorado,  which  was  conceived  in 
the  same  spirit  of  originality  which  created  the 
improvements  mentioned.  This  hotel  is  con- 
structed upon  three  sides  of  a  large  court  con- 
taining a  miniature  lake,  fed  by  cold  mountain 
springs  and  stocked  with  trout  intended  for  the 
table.  In  summer  the  glass  partitions  which 
in  cold  weather  separate  the  main  dining-room 
from  the  broad  veranda  are  taken  down,  and 
tables  are  set  in  the  open  air ;  and  the  guest 
who  may  fancy  a  broiled  trout  for  breakfast  is 
privileged  to  capture  it  himself,  in  this  particu- 
lar following  the  practice  of  the  patron  of 
restaurants  in  Mexico,  who  selects  the  materials 
of  his  meal  before  they  have  been  sent  to  the 
kitchen. 

The  state  of  Colorado  is  the  best  hunting- 
ground  left  to  the  American  sportsman..  Not 
far  distant  from  Glenwood  Springs  deer  and 


152 


\ 


154 


elk  still  abound,  and  bears  and  mountain-lions 
may  easily  be  found  by  those  who  understand 
the  manner  of  their  pursuit.  The  Roaring 
Fork,  a  succession  of  noisy  rapids  and  cataracts 
coursing  down  the  timber-clad  mountain-side, 
affords  excellent  trout-fishing,  and  Trappers 
Lake  is  known  to  thousands  of  gunners  and 
fishermen,  either  by  experience  or  by  repute. 

LEADVILLE. 

Just  beyond  the  foot  of  the  Hagerman  and 
Tennessee  passes,  upon  the  swell  of  a  mountain 
flank,  stands  the  great  mining  city,  at  an  ele- 
vation of  10,000  feet.  In  April,  1860,  the  first 
gold  claims  were  staked  out  in  California  Gulch, 
and  within  three  months  thereafter  10,000  min- 
ers had  located  there.  Two  claims  are  said  to 
have  yielded  $75,000  in  the  space  of  sixty  days, 
and  single  individuals  are  known  to  have  been 
rewarded  by  $100,000  for  the  work  of  one  sum- 
mer. In  a  little  more  than  a  year  the  field  was 
exhausted,  nearly  $10,000,000  of  the  yellow 
metal  having  been  carried  away.  In  the  dig- 
ging of  ditches  to  facilitate  the  washing  of  the 
auriferous  gravel,  masses  of  a  heavy  black  rock 
were  so  commonly  encountered  as  to  prove  a 
considerable  annoyance,  but  they  were  thrown 
aside  and  forgotten.  These  were  the  famous 
silver  carbonates,  whose  value  was  later  re- 
vealed by  a  merely  curious  assay;  and  the  first 
body  of  carbonate  ore  to  be  worked  formed  the 
entire  mass  of  a  cliff  in  California  Gulch  which 
had  been  execrated  by  innumerable  gold-dig- 
gers. The  richest  ores  were  not  among  the 
first  to  be  developed,  and  prospecting  and 
155 


small  workings  were  increasingly  carried  on 
for  a  series  of  years  until,  in  1878,  two  pros- 
pectors who  were  "  grub-staked  "  by  Mr.  Tabor 
(since  Senator),  chanced  to  be  crossing  Fryer 
Hill  and  sat  down  to  imbibe  casual  refreshment 
from  a  jug  of  whisky.  By  the  time  they  had 
become  satisfactorily  refreshed  all  kinds  of 
ground  looked  alike  to  them,  and  in  pure  imbe- 
cility, without  the  slightest  justification,  they 
began  to  dig  where  they  had  been  sitting. 
They  uncovered  the  ore  body  of  the  famous 
Little  Pittsburg  Mine,  which,  so  exuberantly 
whimsical  is  occasional  chance,  has  since 
proved  to  be  the  only  point  on  the  entire  hill 
where  the  ledge  approaches  so  near  the  sur- 
face. Then  ensued  a  second  scramble  of  the 
multitude  for  place  in  this  marvelous  treasure- 
region,  and  the  wildest  excitement  reigned.  In 
the  eight  years  that  have  passed  the  carbonate 
ores  have  not  been  exhausted;  on  the  contrary, 
new  finds  are  still  of  frequent  occurrence,  and 
the  city  of  Leadville  is  now  known  to  be  un- 
derlaid with  bodies  of  that  ore.  But  the  car- 
bonate  era  has  probably  passed  its  climax  and 
is  giving  place  to  the  sulphide  era,  millions  of 
tons  of  sulphide  ores  having  already  been 
blocked  out  in  Iron,  Breece  and  Carbonate 
hills.  The  geological  position  of  the  new  ores 
promises  even  greater  extent  and  value  than 
the  carbonates  have  realized,  although  they  are 
less  cheaply  worked.  And  should  the  sul- 
156 


phides  at  length  be  exhausted  no  one  can  safely 
prophesy  that  this  extraordinarily  versatile 
locality  will  not  present  the  world  with  some 
new  compound  which  on  analysis  shall  prove 
unexpectedly  rich  in  precious  metals. 

The  carbonate  disco  very  .revived  the  almost- 
depopulated  camp,  and  for  the  space  of  a  few 
years  thereafter  Leadville  was  nearly  as  no- 
torious for  lawlessness  and  personal  insecurity 


as  for  the  richness  and  number  of  its  mines. 
That  phase  has  been  outlived;  order,  quiet 
and  the  refinements  that  belong  to  a  wealthy 
city  in  our  day  having  long  been  permanently 
established.  The  tourist  will,  however,  find  it 
distinctly  individual  and  full  of  present  interest, 
and  the  wonderful  romance  of  its  past,  which 
reads  like  a  tale  of  unbridled  imagination, 
invests  it  with  an  imperishable  glamour. 

BUENA  VISTA. 

Stretching    southward  for  thirty  miles  be- 
tween the  Park  and  Saguache  ranges,  at  an 
157 


equal  distance  east  from  Leadville,  lies  an 
idyllic  valley  of  the  Arkansas  River.  At  the 
head  of  this  valley  stands  Buena  Vista,  like  a 
Swiss  village.  Harvard,  Yale  and  Princeton 
mountains,  each  loftier  than  Pike's  Peak,  rise 
close  behind  it  upoji  the  west,  and  upon  the 
south  the  white  summits  of  the  Sangre  de  Cristo 
range  are  discernible.  The  view  is  downward 
upon  the  white  town  and  over  the  far  stretch 


of  sunlit  meadow,  whose  penetrating  beauty 
and  perfect  peace  is  enhanced  by  the  grandeur 
of  the  College  Peaks,  which  from  the  grass- 
grown  and  timbered  slopes  of  their  feet  rise  to 
heights  and  forms  of  awful  sublimity.  Buena 
Vista  means  in  the  Spanish  a  comprehensive 
outlook  rather  than  a  beautiful  scene.  It  is  a 
euphonious  name,  and  serves  well  enough  in 
Colorado,  where  among  so  much  that  is  super- 
lative one  learns  to  be  temperate  in  the  use  of 
adjectives;  but  anywhere  else  in  the  world  this 
should  have  been  Vista  Gloriosa.  It  is  a  peep 
of  paradise,  a  dream  of  a  happy  vale  where  the 
blessed  might  dwell  in  joy  forever. 
158 


CRIPPLE  CREEK. 

Four  years  ago  the  famous  gold  camp  was 
reached  only  by  stage  coach  at  the  heels  of  half 
a  dozen  spirited  horses  driven  by  a  veteran  who 
reeked  of  border  reminiscence.  Two  railroads 
now  transport  its  passengers  and  freight,  the 
Midland  Terminal  on  the  north,  and  the 
Florence  &*  Cripple  Creek  on  the  south.  Its 


history  is  pretty  well  known.  Twice  it  has 
been  a  more  than  national  sensation,  and  twice 
the  wave  of  general  excitement  has  subsided 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  gathered  throng  of 
fevered  gold-seekers,  disappointed  in  its  hope 
of  acquiring  immediate  and  unmerited  riches, 
has  melted  away  with  anathema  upon  its  lips. 
When  the  first  wave  receded  perhaps  five  out 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  remained  clustered 
around  a  few  mines  of  enormous  determined 
value  and  a  goodly  number  of  promising  claims, 
among  half  a  dozen  small  and  fragile  settle- 
ments which  wore  the  motley  aspect  peculiar  to 
young  mining  towns.  During  the  second  in- 
flux, when  the  population  numbered  twenty- five 
or  thirty  thousand,  the  camps  were  transformed 
159 


into  modernized  cities,  with  water-works,  elec- 
tric lights  and  good  hotels.  Yet  even  when 
houses  in  great  number  were  building  daily, 
men  with  hundreds  of  dollars  in  their  pockets 
rented  chairs  for  a  night,  instead  of  beds  and 
rooms,  and  when  chairs  were  no  longer  to  be 
had  they  walked  the  streets  or  slept  in  alleys 
because  money  could  not  buy  any  better  accom- 
modation. At  the  pitch  of  excitement'the  town 
of  Cripple  Creek,  center  of  operations,  was  vis- 
ited by  a  devastating  conflagration.  Before  the 
smoke  had  cleared  new  and  better  buildings 
were  under  way,  but  the  disaster  undoubtedly 
hastened  the  inevitable  hour  when  so  dispro-  ' 
portionate  a  population  must  adjust  itself  to  its 
single  wealth-creating  industry  of  mining  and 
shipping  ore.  For  in  that  vast  multitude  com- 
paratively few  had  an  indubitable  prize,  many 
owners  of  encouraging  prospects  had  developed 
them  to  the  limit  of  their  own  resources,  and 
the  time  came  when  the  outside  speculating 
world  wearied  of  contributing  money  for  shares 
161 


in  prospective  mines  which  failed  to  give  satis- 
factory account  of  themselves,  if,  in  truth,  they 
were  not  in  some  instances  purely  mythical.  In 
any  event  the  grist  which  had  fed  this  sensa- 
tional mill  ceased  to  arrive,  and  thousands  who 
had  directly  or  indirectly  subsisted  upon  it  were 
compelled  to  withdraw.  So  for  the  second  time 
Cripple  Creek  relapsed  into  the  comparative 
quiet  of  operating  its  mines  and  developing  its 


best  prospects.  It  was  almost  unavoidable  that 
it  should  lose  something  of  good  repute  in  cer- 
tain quarters.  Where  many  wagers  are  lost, 
however  foolish,  good  will  is  apt  to  be  lacking; 
and  the  satirist  of  human  follies  may  well  turn  a 
cynical  eye  upon  the  most  prodigious  gambling 
spot  of  America  in  our  generation.  But  after 
the  disappointed  or  deluded  have  had  their  say, 
and  the  moralist  has  eased  him  of  his  epigram, 
let  us  in  justice  add  that  Cripple  Creek  covers 
one  of  the  richest  gold  deposits  known  to  the 
world.  At  the  end  of  the  year  1898  it  had 
milled  a  total  of  $53,000,000  in  gold,  not  to 
speak  of  the  dumps  which  contain  uncounted 
162 


tons  of  low-grade  ore  awaiting  the  introduction 
of  methods  which  shall  reduce  them  cheaply 
and  upon  a  large  scale.  The  actual  output  for 
the  first  six  months  of  1898  was  $7,204,750. 

MANITOU. 

In  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Pike's 
Peak  is  found  an  extraordinary  group  of  resorts 
which  every  year,  between  June  "and  Septem- 
ber, attracts  unnumbered  thousands  of  visitors. 
Each  differs  in  individual  allurements,  but  all 
alike  are  characterized  by  transparent,  exhilara- 
ting air,  vivid  tones  of  verdure  and  myriad 
flowers,  streams,  waterfalls,  small  lakes,  foun- 
tains, forests,  red  rock-sculptures,  gorges  and 
mountains,  always  mountains,  leading  the  eye 
progressively  to  their  kingly  peak;  by  white 
tents  in  the  shade  of  pines  and  aspens,  neat 
hamlets  and  esthetic  caravansaries  hugging 
Cyclopean  walls;  by  fashionable  equipages, 
equestrians  and  an  animated  holiday  throng  on 
foot;  and  by  a  buoyant  breadth  which  all  the 
multitude  can  not  crowd  or  oppress.  The  cul- 
minating point  is  Manitou,  a  spot  of  such 
supernal  beauty  that  even  the  Utes  rose  to  the 
height  of  poetic  appreciation  and  named  it  after 
the  Great  Spirit.  Placed  at  the  very  foot  of  the 
terrible  Peak,  in  the  opening  of  the  mountain- 
notch  upon  the  broad  plains,  every  essence 
of  interior  landscape  loveliness  is  showered 
upon  it.  It  is  without  a  flaw,  a  superlative 
thing  unpicturable  to  those  who  know  only  the 
plains  or  the  shores  of  the  sea;  a  Titania's 
bower  of  melting  sweetness  amid  Nature's 
savagest  throes.  Marvels  are  thickly  clustered. 
163 


There  are  grottoes  hung  with  stalactites  and 
banked  with  moss-like  beds  of  gleaming  crys- 
tal-filaments, springs  tinctured  with  iron, 
springs  effervescent  with  soda,  plains  serried 
with  huge  isolated  rock-sculptures,  narrow 
gorges  where  at  the  bottom  of  hundreds  of  feet 
of  shadow  is  scant  passage-way,  long  perpen- 
dicular lines  of  white  foaming  torrent,  and 
soft  blending  flames  of  color  from  rosy  rock 
and  herbage  and  flower. 

The  waters  of  the  Soda  Springs  are  walled  in 
the  middle  of  a  dainty  park  in  the  heart  of  the- 
village,  at  night  an  incandescent  lamp  gleam- 
ing upward  through  their  bubbling  depths. 
Millions  of  gallons  are  exported,  but  something 
of  the  living  sparkle  on  the  tongue  is  lost  in 
separation  from  the  surcharged  fount.  Here  it 
is  more  exuberantly  crisp  and  refreshing  than 
that  of  the  artificial  compound  which,  in  East- 
ern cities,  presides  over  the  counter  dearest  to- 
the  feminine  heart.  The  flow  is  unstinted,  and 
is  free  to  all.  The  Iron  Springs  are  upon  the 
hillside,  within  easy  strolling  distance.  Both 
are  distinctly  beneficial  to  health,  and  are  fre- 
quented by  a  merry  multitude  throughout  the 
day  and  early  night. 

Grand  Caverns  and  the  Cave  of  the  Winds 
are  near  neighbors,  divided  by  a  single  ridge 
and  doubtless  intercommunicating  by  undis- 
covered passages.  Both  are  elevated  far 
above  the  town;  the  approach  to  the  one 
climbing  past  the  Rainbow  Falls  along  a 
steep  slope  that  looks  off  across  the  entrancing 
landscape  of  the  valley  to  the  mountain  back- 
ground, the  other  opening  in  the  side  of 
164 


Williams  Canon,  through  the  notch  of  whose 
magnificent  upreaching  walls  there  is  at  one 
point  a  sharp  turn  where  an  unskillful  driver 
could  hardly  hope  to  pass  without  grazing  a 
wheel.  It  must  have  been  a  critical  place  in 
the  old  days  when  stages  were  "held  up,''  for 
the  miscalculation  of  an  inch  would  have 
meant  catastrophe  in  the  wake  of  plunging 
horses.  The  two  caves  are  very  similar — nar- 
row underground  corridors  opening  into  a 
series  of  high-vaulted  chambers  hung  with 
stalactites  and  glittering  in  magnesium  light 
like  the  jewel-caves  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 
The  floors  are  dry,  but  through  the  limestone 
walls  fine  moisture  oozes,  depositing  the  sta- 
lagmite in  strange  and  often  esthetic  forms,  in 
addition  to  the  pendent  icicles  of  rock.  There 
are  striking  suggestions  of  intelligible  statuary, 
and  innumerable  imitations  of  natural  objects, 
animal  and  vegetable.  There  is  the  Grand 
Organ,  really  a  natural  xylophone,  a  cluster  of 
stalactites  of  varying  proportions,  upon  which 
entire  tunes  are  played  with  approximate 
accuracy,  with  occasional  tones  that  are  as 
mournfully  impressive  as  a  midnight-bell. 
Jewel  Casket,  Concert  Hall,  Bridal  Chamber 
and  the  like  are  names  bestowed  upon  different 
compartments,  and  numberless  particular  for- 
*  mations  have  individual  titles.  Grand 

Caverns  and  the  Cave  of  the  Winds 
each  requires  at  least  an  hour  for  the 
most  casual  exploration.  Thousands 
of  visiting-cards  have  been  left  upon 
the  walls. 

1 66 


A  park  of  500  acres  covered  with  protruding 
rock-figures  of  striking  form  and  beauty  consti- 
tutes the  Garden  of  the  Gods.  The  names  ap- 
plied to  these  suggestive  forms  of  sandstone 
and  gypsum  describe  their  eccentric  appear- 
ance. Toadstools,  Mushroom  Park,  Hedgehog, 
Ant  Eater,  Lizard,  Turtle,  Elephant,  Lion, 
Camels,  American  Eagle,  Seal  and  Bear, 
Sphinx,  Siamese  Twins,  Flying  Dutchman, 
Irish  Washerwoman,  Punch,  Judy  and  Baby, 
Lady  of  the  Garden,  Three  Graces,  Stage 
Coach  and  Graveyard  are  a  few.  There  are 
others  which  rise  to  the  dignity  of  pure  gran- 
deur. Pictures  of  the  Gateway,  a  magnificent 
portal  330  feet  high,  and  of  Cathedral  Spires 
and  Balanced  Rock  have  been  admired  all  over 
the  world.  Here,  as  elsewhere  in  the  West, 
beyond  the  eastern  bounds  of  Colorado  and 
New  Mexico,  color  is  an  element  of  charm  in 
landscape  even  greater  than  contour.  These 
rocks  are  white  and  yellow  and  red,  and  in  the 
crystalline  air,  that  scorns  a  particle  of  haze, 
the  scene  is  indescribably  clear  and  sharp  to 
the  eye,  and  as  vivid  as  an  enthusiastic  water- 
color.  Drawings  in  black-and-white  inade- 
quately communicate  them  to  a  reader. 

Contiguous  to  the  Garden  of  the  Gods  lies 
Glen  Eyrie,  the  private  estate  of  General 
Palmer,  covering  1,300  acres.  This  is  open  to 
the  public  except  on  Sunday.  Queen  Canon, 
fourteen  miles  long,  the  Major  Domo,  cliffs  of 
blazing  color,  and  tree-embowered  drives  and 
green-houses  are  attractive  features  of  Glen 
Eyrie. 

167 


ASCENT   OF    PIKE  S   PEAK. 

The  majesty  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  can  not 
be  beckoned  wholly  into  intimacy.  There  is  a 
quality  that  holds  unbendingly  aloof  from  fel- 
lowship, if  not  from  perfect  comprehension. 
The  sea  is  sympathetic  in  moods.  Soul-quaking 
in  tumult,  it  softens  to  moments  of  superficial 
loveliness  that  would  have  you  forget  the  mur- 
derous hunger  that  lies  the  length  of  your  stat- 
ure under  wave.  Not  so  the  mountain-peaks. 
They  are  the  sublimest  personalities  known  to 
earth;  the  hugeous,  towering  imperturbable. 
They  joy  not,  lament  not,  rage  not.  The  chill 
seolian  of  upper  air  and  the  roar  of  distant 
avalanche  do  not  stir  the  profundity  of  their 
rapt  contemplation.  Pale,  austere,  passionless, 
and  ineffable  in  grandeur,  they  rise  like  an 
apotheosis  of  intellect  over  the  spheres  of  emo- 
tion; or,  if  you  like  better,  they  stand  for 
lofty  spiritual  reach.  It  augurs  well  of  man 
that  he  can  endure  their  proximity.  A  nation 
of  mountaineers  should  be  unequaled  in  the 
168 


qualities  of  virtue,  intrepidity,  and  clarity  of 
brain.  The  legend  of  William  Tell  is  a  true 
expression  of  the  spirit  of  the  people  of  Swit- 
zerland, that  brooks  no  fetter  of  tyranny.  And 
you  will  fear,  not  love,  the  mountains  if  you 
have  not  heights  within  to  match  them.  So 
every  genuine  lover  of  a  topmost  pinnacle 
should  have  something  sterling  in  him.  From 
the  knot  of  excursionists  you  will  see  him  steal 
away  to  be  alone  in  the  sotem>£xaltation  of 
the  hour.  §tf^St  W* 

There  are  many  summits  in  Colorado  more 
elevated  than  Pike's  Peak,  but  they  are  difficult, 
and  the  difference  in  height  is  not  appreciable. 
Here  you  are  lifted  above  the  clouds  so  far  that 
the  world  lies  remote  beneath  the  eye,  the 
neighboring  towns  and  cities  shrunk  to  insignifi- 
cance. Vast  is  the  panorama  outspread  to  view. 
The  plain  is  grown  indefinite  and  unsubstantial, 
like  a  subdued  picture  floating  in  the  sky;  but 
beyond  the  ranges  are  piled  tier  on  tier,  peak 
after  peak,  white-draped  or  dun  in  a  haze  of 
blue.  The  storm  sweeps  below,  its  forked 
lightnings  under  foot,  its  rumble  of  thunder 
echoing  faintly  up  through  the  thin  cold  air; 
and  while  boisterous  deluge  rolls  over  valley 
and  plain  you  stand  bathed  in  radiance,  like 
Phoebus  in  his  chariot  of  morn.  And  there  is 
an  hour  of  incommunicable  splendor,  when  the 
sun  rises,  gleaming  like  a  burnished  yellow  moon 
through  dark  cloud-wrappings  on  the  rim  of 
169 


fading  night,  and  again  when  it  sinks  behind 
the  fierce  tumbled  mountain-chain,  gilding  the 
peaks  with  ruddy  fire,  the  while  dusk  spreads 
beneath  like  a  silent  submerging  sea. 

The  ascent,  for  very  many  years,  was  oftener 
talked  of  than  attempted.  Zebulon  Pike  him- 
self failed,  in  1806,  and  half  a  century  passed 
after  that  before  the  first  trail  was  cut,  from 
old  Summit  Park,  a  dozen  miles  west  of  Mani- 
tou.  That  trail  was  little  used,  because  of  its 
difficulties  and  dangers.  In  the  seventies 
three  additional  trails  were  constructed,  and  in 
1889  the  carriage-road  from  Cascade  was  com- 
pleted. In  1891  the  Cog- Wheel  Railway  began 
operation,  running  directly  from  Manitou  to 
the  summit,  and  accomplishing  that  feat  in  a 
distance  of  nine  miles.  The  steepest  grade  on 
the  road  is  one  foot  in  four.  It  starts  near  the 
Iron  Springs,  at  the  mouth  of  Engelmann's 
Canon,  and  makes  the  round  trip  in  four  and  a 
half  hours,  allowing  a  stop  of  forty  minutes  on 
the  peak.  Several  trains  are  run  daily,  in  the 
open  season,  and,  moreover,  accommodations 
for  the  night  can  be  had  in  the  old  Signal 
Station,  which  has  been  made  over  into  a 
tavern.  To  those  who  desire  to  obtain  this 
crowning  experience  in  the  easiest  manner  and 
in  the  shortest  possible  time,  the  ascent  by  rail 
is  recommended.  Many,  however,  prefer  the 
greater  personal  freedom  and  the  fuller  enjoy- 
170 


ment  of  scenes  by  the  way  offered  by  the 
carriage  road  from  Cascade.  Although  that  is 
sixteen  miles  long,  it  has  ample  rewards  for  all 
its  fatigues. 

The  altitude  of  Pike's  Peak  is  14,14?  feet 
above  sea-level,  and  its  height  above  the  start- 
ing-point of  the  Cog-Wheel  Railway  in  Mani- 
tou  is  7,518  feet.  The  altitude  of  Mount  Wash- 
ington, in  New  Hampshire,  is  6,293  feet,  that 
of  the  Rigi,  in  Switzerland,  5,832  feet,  and  of 
the  Jungfrau,  13,667  feet,  above  the  sea. 

COLORADO    SPRINGS. 

Closely  backed  by  the  Rockies,  whose  east- 
ern contour  is  a  protecting  semicircle  that 
opens  to  the  Great  Plains,  this  pretty  city  stands 
upon  a  level  floor,  divided  by  broad  tree-shaded 
avenues  into  squares  as  regular  as  those  of  a 
chess-board,  which  it  strongly  resembles  when 
viewed  from  the  slopes  and  pinnacle  of  Pike's 
Peak.  There  are  attractive  drives  in  every 
direction,  out  upon  the  plains,  through  the 
canons  and  up  the  mountain-sides.  Only  six 
miles  distant  from  Manitou,  with  which  it  is 
connected  by  an  electric  street-railway,  in 
addition  to  the  steam  railroads,  and  joined  to 
Cheyenne  Canons  upon  the  other  hand,  Colo- 
rado Springs  is  perhaps  the  most  fashionable 
and  most  populous  of  the  special  resorts  of 
Colorado.  It  is  a  city  of  homes  of  the  wealthy, 
with  some  12,000  inhabitants. 

The  street-line  ends  at  the  foot  of  the  canon, 
whose  approach  lies  between  a  swelling  grass- 
covered  rise  upon  the  one  hand  and  a  shrubby 
hillside  upon  the  other.  Here  begins  a  com- 
171 


fortable  carriage-road,  and  conveyances  and 
burros  are  procurable.  The  road  gradually 
ascends  through  groves  of  evergreen  and  de- 
ciduous trees,  crossing  and  recrossing  a  clear 
mountain-stream  by  rustic  bridges,  on  through 
the  gateway  of  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  into  a 
defile  where  rock-walls  rise  many  hundred 
feet  overhead,  and  needles,  spires,  cones  and 
irregular  crags  lift  head  above  and  behind 
one  another,  some  bleakly  bare,  some  fringed 
with  shrubs  and  trees,  prodigious  rocks  serry- 
ing  the  mountain-side  to  heights  where  details 
of  form  are  lost  to  the,  eye  and  only  broad 
effects  of  color  and  ebb  and  swell  are  intel- 
ligible. The  carriage-road  leads  directly  to  the 
foot  of  Seven  Falls,  to  whose  head  the  visitor 
may  climb  by  a  long  stairway.  A  short  dis- 
tance below  the  falls  a  circuitous  narrow  trail 
diverges  toward  the  left  from  the  carriage-road, 
up  which  burros  are  ridden  to  the  upper  level, 
where  one  can  look  down  upon  this  entire 
series  of  brilliant  cascades.  Arrived  here  many 
diverging  paths  invite  the  visitor.  The  log 
cabin  where  Helen  Hunt  Jackson  loved  to 
spend  much  of  her  time  in  summer  is  at  hand, 
and  the  former  site  of  her  grave,  marked  by  a 
huge  heap  of  stones,  may  be  reached  by  a  steep 
path  to  the  left.  Glens  and  rocky  eminences, 
bushy  retreats  by  the  side  of  the  streams,  and 
fern  and  flower-decked  banks  entice  to  farther 
exploration.  Day  after  day  many  return  to  the 
fresh  beauties  of  the  spot,  each  time  discover- 
ing some  new  delight  among  the  thousand 
charms  of  the  mountain- wilds. 
172 


DENVER. 

Denver  lies  75  miles  north  from  Colorado 
Springs,  and  115  from  Pueblo.  It  is  a  queen 
among  fair  cities,  standing  upon  a  broad  ele- 
vated plain,  with  mountain  horizons  of  great 
beauty.  Its  enormous  smelters,  with  towering, 
smoke-vomiting  stacks,  do  not  seriously  deface 
it,  and  themselves  are  an  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive sight,  for  many  millions  of  gold  and  silver 
are  there  extracted  from  Rocky  Mountain  ores 
every  year. 

The  Queen  City  of  the  Plains  has  periods  of 
winter  cold  and  snow,  but  commonly  the  air  is 
delightfully  temperate  when  Eastern  cities  are 
ice-bound  and  shivering.  Almost  every  part 
of  Denver  can  be  quickly  visited  by  electric  or 
cable  street  cars. 


373 


VIII. 
HOMEWARD. 

)RTY  miles  below  Colorado  Springs, 
in  the  Arkansas  Valley,  thirty  miles 
east  from  the  mountains,  stands  Pu- 
eblo, another  city  of  smelters,  and  of 
immense  steel,  iron  and  copper  works.  Here 
is  the  Colorado  Mineral  Palace,  a  large  and 
costly  auditorium  of  modernized  Egyptian  arch- 
itecture, whose  domes  are  supported  by  gilded 
columns,  around  whose  bases  are  arranged 
plate-glass  cases  rilled  with  choice  specimens  of 
Colorado  minerals,  which  constitute  the  most 
valuable  collection  of  minerals  in  the  world. 

The  region  traversed  by  the  Arkansas  River, 
in  its  course  through  eastern  Colorado  and 
western  Kansas,  exemplifies  the  benefits  of 
water  artificially  applied  to  growing  crops; 
and  many  thrifty  settlements  greet  the  eye  at 
frequent  intervals. 

Sixty  miles  east  of  Pueblo  one  comes  again 
to  La  Junta,  the  junction  point  in  southeastern 
Colorado  which  was  passed  on  the  outward 
journey.  From  this  point  to  Chicago  the  scenes 
would  be  familiar  except  for  the  fact  that  many 
localities  which  on  the  outward  trip  were 
passed  in  the  night  are  now  seen  by  day. 
174 


The  marvels  of  the  West,  however,  have  now 
been  left  behind,  and  the  tourist  may  be  ex- 
pected to  be  absorbed  in  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion of  his  home-coming.  He  returns  not  as  he 
departed,  for  such  a  journey  as  that  which  now 
draws  near  its  close  possesses  an  emphatic  edu- 
cating value.  He  knows  definitely  now  about 
those  features  of  our  Western  empire  which 
before  were-  to  him  a  vague  imagining,  inade- 
quately and  perhaps  wrongly  conceived. 

And,  not  the  least  valuable  of  human  acqui 
sitions,  henceforward  he  will  have  a  story. 

THE  END. 


175 


p 
"cr 


102359 


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